


In the Sanguine Shadow

by SilverStripes



Series: It's A Fox Thing [2]
Category: Caravan Palace (Band), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Angst, Espionage, F/M, Intrigue, M/M, Organized Crime, Psychological Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 301,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverStripes/pseuds/SilverStripes
Summary: SEQUEL to "It's a Fox Thing," so I recommend you read that first.With Zootopia reeling in the wake of an assassination and crippled by the Blue epidemic, the ZIA sets up a task force under the famous Jack Savage to bring order back to the streets.  Yet there is a bigger danger brewing beneath the bright lights of the ostensible utopia, and the City's dark past returns to haunt our heroes.Returning as a major OC:  Benjy Kaplan





	1. Warren Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy visit the Hopps Warren.

“ _NICHOLAS PIBERIUS WILDE!_ ” I roar, “ _YOU'RE NOT GONNA ESCAPE ME THIS TIME!_ ”

My voice echoes through the compound. The tunnels spread out like the limbs of a spider as large a city block, with enough rooms to occupy two hundred, maybe two-fifty. Far in the distance and down the halls I can hear my companions fighting for their lives: the snarls of paw-to-paw combat, the cracks of gunfire, the screaming. Yet the sounds of battle are warped as they resonate along the twists and turns of cold concrete, and the ruckus seems more like the echoes of a distant and terrible memory.

I clutch the handle of my pistol tight. The joints of my paws begin to ache.

The irony of the situation isn't lost on me. Yeah. A bunny hunting a fox. Funny, ain't it? But while he has his night vision to help him navigate the darkness, I have my hearing. My ears turn, trying to tease out the source of any sound. A breath. A heartbeat. The click of a gun being cocked.

And then I hear it. A cold chuckle comes from amid the rooms to the left, and carefully I tiptoe towards him. Surely he must smell me by now, but I can hear his breathing. I can almost feel his heartbeat. I swear I can almost pick up the stink of fox, even beneath the scent mask he's wearing to shroud his presence from the noses of wolves and other hunters.

There would be no arrest today. No reading him his rights. No charges or legal proceedings. It's going to end, here and now, with a bullet in his gut. There would be no clean kill for Nick Wilde, not after all he'd done. I'm going to make it last, and I'm going to make it hurt.

Though if it doesn't go down that way I have my own escape, in the form of a cyanide capsule tucked in the corner of my cheek.

Kicking open the door I hoist my gun. The light that's strapped to my shoulder pans around the room for a moment. A small cell, with a pile of blankets on the floor. It has few accommodations, but the former occupant had apparently earned himself a small table and a couple of books for his good behavior.

And on the table sits a small black device: a speaker that's putting out the sound of a fox's heartbeat and breathing, and a small aerosolizer releasing a faint vulpine scent.

A Vital Decoy.

I hadn't been fooled though, not completely. This is precisely how they fight, with decoys and false trails. I spin around and catch a glimpse of that green-eyed devil as he pops out from around the corner and fires his tranq gun.

The only reason we rabbits survived to this day was because our ancestors' agility beat out vulpine cleverness. Those that weren't quick enough had their futures end in the jaws of a fox. Today though I live up to my heritage, and I bounce and roll off to the side just as the dart cracks against the concrete wall behind me. My own return fire pings uselessly behind his fluffy tail as it vanishes around the bend.

“ _YOU COWARD!_ ” I snarl as I dart after him.

Wilde is a red blur, lit up intermittently by my shoulder-mounted light as it bounces back and forth. He leaps into the air then, twisting around with his arm outstretched, dart gun pointing straight at me. His training had made him quicker than ever, and I don't even have time to react as he fires.

With a soft ping, a light impact against my shoulder, and the crack of plastic, my shoulder-mounted light goes out. I let out a hiss as I stumble.

“Sonuva--!”

Out of pure instinct I scramble away from where I'd landed, just as I hear another couple of compressed gas pellets popping, and the darts crack uselessly on the floor. In terms of senses he's got a decisive advantage, yet even with his night vision it can't be easy to hit a rabbit in the darkness.

Thing is, I've got live ammunition, and another two clips.

I fire into the shadows, not looking to hit Wilde. Rather, the muzzle flash lights up the hall momentarily like the flicker of a candle. I catch a glimpse of his stupid narrow face, mouth open in shock, and readjust my aim.

_Bang!_

“AUGH!” he yelps, and his body hits the floor.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out one of the glow-sticks, cracking it between my teeth before I toss it to the ground. There, curled up into a ball, is Wilde. The bullet hadn't pierced his suit jacket, not with the kevlar fibers woven into it. But it still must've felt like a hammer to the ribs.

“Murderer...” I snarl, leaping towards him. Stupid to get into paw-to-paw combat when I have the advantage, but I need to feel his jaw breaking beneath my fists. I need to feel his teeth shattering against my heels. I want to feel his blood spattering my muzzle as I beat him to death.

Wilde has to feel pain. For every life he's taken. For every innocent he's violated. For betraying his uniform.

I crack the butt of my gun into the side of his face as he tries to get up, drive a knee into his tailbone. I pistol-whip him again and again, until the knife-edge of my paw grows damp with blood.

“Do you know how many mammals you've killed?!” I scream, “Loupin... Ramure... Fangmeyer... FANGMEYER!”

“I did...” Nick coughs, a scarlet trickle dripping from his jawline. He refuses to look at me. “I did what I had to...”

I press the muzzle of my gun into his arm and pull the trigger.

Even at point-blank range the bullet doesn't break the kevlar, but Wilde screams in pain at the impact, clutching his bicep.

“Y-you're insane!” he yowls.

I laugh. With all the things he's guilty of, with all that he and his ilk have put me through, did he think I'd be mentally sound right now?

My paw shoots out to grab his tie, and I kick his shoulder, rolling him onto his stomach. Planting a heel into his back I begin to pull. A soft gurgle leaks from his muzzle, and his claws scrabble at the loop of silk tightening around his throat.

“Don't worry, Nick. You'll get to breathe when you say their names. Every single one you've killed. Everyone you've crippled or maimed. Now go on. Speak.”

I let the tie loosen just a hair.

“L-Loupin...” Nick gasps with the tears crawling down his cheeks. “R-Ramure... Fangmeyer...”

It feels so good to hear his confession. To hear him admit his betrayal. It's a catharsis, like the first clean breath after a long illness, or the smell of new buds cutting through the stink of rotting leaves in the spring. The names of the dead spill from his mouth one by one like a string of pearls.

Does he actually feel guilty? Does he actually feel ashamed of everything he's done?

Maybe once I kill him, I'll have peace.

Maybe once I plant a bullet in his guts and watch the life fade from his eyes, I can forget that I ever trusted him.

I can forget that he ever kissed me.

 

 

~~~ 3 months ago ~~~

 

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

It's a two-hour train ride to Bunnyburrow, and in all this time we haven't touched once.

It's not like we warned each other off or anything. In fact, up until we reached the platform we were holding paws and sharing kisses. You know, like, I'd give her a peck on the forehead, she has to return with a peck on the cheek. Then I gotta give her one on the cheek too, so Judy pulls me down, wraps her arms around me and smooches me right beneath the ear. It's almost a competition, with a lot of giggling and fussing that would've made an eight-year-old me gag.

Once we boarded though it all just kinda... stopped.

Maybe it was the thought of us heading out to the country. I mean in the city some mammals would give us confused glances, or even just outright stare trying to figure out if they really _were_ seeing a bunny and a fox hanging out and possibly in a relationship. For the most part though we were left alone.

Me, I've always been a city fox. I don't know what to expect from Bunnyburrow, so I guess I'm playing it safe when it comes to the PDAs. Like, I really don't wanna work off the assumption they're all vulpephobic hicks, even with the old warnings in the back of my mind about what they used to do to tods back in the day. The problem is Judy would know how her community would react, and the fact that she seems nervous about this doesn't seem to bode well for either of us. And that makes _me_ nervous.

In a weird way this train is like a time machine. As passengers get off and others get on, the crowd gets progressively more old-timey. Sleeveless hoodies, miniskirts, and ironic OBEY caps gradually give way to plain t-shirts and flannels. Little by little the markings of urban culture become more watered down, and country folk start to take over. I think I even saw a bull in a brown bowler hat and matching suit, and it's a weird contrast to see him reading some article on a PawPad in that outfit.

It's hard to be the touchy-feely type when you grew up the way I did, but nonetheless I get the urge to reach out and hold Judy's paw. That might just freak her out more though. The mammals on the train are already giving us surreptitious glances, no doubt wondering what we're doing together.

I wish I could say it was a relief stepping off of the train, and okay in a way it is. After being boxed up in that compartment with its recycled air and the scents of a dozen different species, it's so freeing to just step out and breathe. The air tastes so damn _clean_ here. I mean the City does a pretty fine job of staying spiffy, but there's always something that laces the air back in Zootopia that gives it the smell of civilization. There's a faintly grungy smokiness to it, like the smell of hot asphalt or a whiff of cigarette smoke, or the powdery mineral scent of cold sidewalks at night when you're hitting the clubs. There's nicer smells too of course: bakeries and the fresh scents of clothing outlets, or the home goods stores that smell of peaches and baby powder.

Here though there's just this pureness to the air. I mean you can get soaps that call themselves “Mountain Spring” or “Summer Breeze” aromas, but they're so artificial in contrast to this. The air here is crisp, green, and faintly earthy, like the smell after a fresh rain. It's so simple and clean.

There's a cutesy plainness to the Bunnyburrow station too. It's just one solid building with yellow and orange walls and a purple tiled roof. A woodwork frame along the side has been designed to make it look like some giant bunny-eared beast grinning down on those waiting on the platform. The columns are all modeled to look like six-foot-tall carrots. I stare at it for a few good minutes, and the realization settles in, _“Oh jeez, this is what I'm in for this whole week.”_

“Judy!”

It takes a moment for me to notice him through the small crowd of mammals milling out of the train.

“Cory!” Judy squeaks, running over to give the bunny a hug. Cory's a couple inches taller than Judy, though I can't tell if he's older or younger. From the same litter maybe? That's how it works with bunnies, right? He's got a milk chocolate coat, but shares Judy's violet eyes.

“So, uh... this is your... uhm...” he looks at me nervously. I shoot him a friendly smile, though it probably comes off a bit fake. I kinda have to mimic that whole wide-eyed bunny look, because otherwise I naturally have that slightly lazy demeanor of your average sleaze and I'm pretty sure that's not gonna go down well here.

“Nick Wilde,” I say, taking care to not show my teeth.

He reaches out to shake my paw. Hmm. Not much of a grip for a farmer.

I let Judy take the middle seat in the pickup truck so the two siblings can sit side by side, and I stare out the window as she and Cory chat it up. It's really peaceful out there isn't it? Just fields and meadows and light woodland, with broad patches of farmland nestled between the hills. A flock of geese fly past overhead. They'll be migrating south soon, won't they? Autumn's coming up, and Tommy's all healed and he'll be ready to go to school in a few weeks.

We've already done a few ride-alongs. Even took him and his mom out to dinner on Tommy's birthday. Reconnecting with Ruby, even just as friends, feels like I've found a part of myself I'd long forgotten. We'd become so different in the past fifteen years, but she still saw a kernel of the brash eighteen-year-old me, and I still saw a bit of that sunny teenage vixen I'd known too. It was weird to see someone who had just about the same face, but have to relearn everything about her.

And Tommy... gosh he's a great kid, which makes it all the sadder that he wasn't mine. Not book-smart like his mom would've liked, but street smart and with such a saucy mouth on him. The first time we took him on a ride-along it smelled as if he'd doused himself in Musk Mask. Though he did telegraph it in other ways of course. He always scoot right behind Judy's seat and would lean in as close as he could, and in the rearview mirror I could see his tail flicking back and forth as he stared at her with that stupid grin on his face. Kid had a serious crush.

“So any new adventures with you, Nick?” Cory asks as he drives. I blink and sit up, realizing they'd just broken away from some conversation about the recent harvest just so he can do the polite thing and make some small talk with me. “Last I heard you two had some sorta run-in with some bigoted goat, right? Guy ended up getting his butt tossed in prison?”

I freeze up, and the smile that Judy had been wearing slips from her face.

“Oh, uh...” I begin.

“Probably not best to talk about that...” Judy says quickly.

“Oh,” Cory says, looking away from the road for a moment to glance at us. “Something happen?”

“He was...” Judy trails off. In a lot of ways she's tougher than me, but Judy's got some sensitive spots about her. This is one of them.

“He died in prison.”

“Oh.”

As if it's not awkward enough, having a fox visit the Hopps family. Judy's' ears hang behind her, and she clutches one side of her head with her paw.

Not two weeks had passed before Shepsfield was found dead in the prison showers from a dozen stab wounds. The penetrating injuries had been clean, and wider than you'd expect from your standard prison shank, like they were made with a proper blade. If anyone knew what'd happened no one was talking. Worse, any security footage of the locker room and showers had been lost somehow.

What the hell was this city and security footage fucking up?

I'd been having some avocado toast for breakfast when I heard about it on the news. At first I couldn't believe it, and then a sick feeling came over me. I'd thrown the disposable cellphone away by that point, so I didn't have a safe avenue to contact Charlie to grill her. Had she planned this? Was getting Shepsfield killed part of her scheme?

I had to toss the rest of my avocado toast in the trash. And that's the sort of thrifty behavior that's forced me to live in such a rathole apartment.

This was my fault, I knew. I was the one who conspired to put him in prison. I should've known it'd happen... after the Night Howler fiasco and Tommy turning out to be the victim of a bigotry-fueled attack, sheep weren't really popular right now, especially around preds.

Doc Conall had to up my antidepressant dosage after that.

The rest of the drive is pretty awkward, but thankfully it isn't that long when we reach the Hopps family home.

I see the first edges of the pink roof and the bunny-ear motif as the truck threads between the hills. It looks less like a giant house and more like a pastry decorated with thick frosting, the smaller huts flanking it like sweet buns in a bakery's display. Windows framed in even more pink dot the hill. There's something just so folksy about the idea of living in a giant warren underground, like the earth itself is just one big thick blanket around you.

As we reach the crest Judy's family comes into view.

Judy had warned me about the horde of rabbits I'd be facing but it's another thing entirely to see it for myself. Hundreds of 'em were waiting for us outside, bouncing and waving with even more energy than I'd come to expect from bunnies. The little ones especially make Judy look downright sober in comparison.

The moment the truck rolls to a stop they're coming to say hi. A couple of her brothers help with our luggage, while a pair of older rabbits come up to up to greet us. All the while a swarm of kits press around me from all sides. The dozens upon dozens of little ears surrounding me reminds me of one of the wheat fields we'd driven past.

“He's so much skinnier than Mr. Gray!”

“His tail's so fluffy!”

“He's really pointy too!”

At least a dozen little paws are gripping my arms and legs, clambering up on my shirt and feeling at my ears. Judy had warned me about this too, but I'd chuckled and said I could handle myself. Now that I'm actually mired in a swarm of young bunnies though I can't believe I ever thought I'd be able to manage.

Sure I could handle one or two of them easily, but once they pile on ten or twelve at a time I'm weighed down by upwards of seventy, eighty pounds of rabbit. For a mammal my size that's just too much. I yelp as they drag me down and start crawling all over me. I'm left completely helpless not just because I've got a swarm of young fluffballs poking and prodding and feeling up my nose and ears and clinging to me with affectionate curiosity, I'm afraid of even just standing up. With the size difference between me and them any sudden movement might end up knocking one of the tykes over or hurting them, and _that_ would make for a poor first impression.

“Judy...” I reach out among the throng. “Heeeeeeeeeelp...”

When her parents finally shoo the little buggers away I can breathe easy, and Cory is kind enough to give me a paw and help me to my feet.

“Whew! That was...” I huff, trying to clear the sweet, creamy scent of young rabbit out of my nose. “That was something...”

Judy giggles as her parents approach me.

“Well...” Her dad's smile is a nervous, fragile thing, and his lip is trembling just a bit. “Nick Wilde...”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hopps,” I dust myself off and reach out and shake his paw.

“Oh! Uh, Stu's fine. This is my wife Bonnie,” he says, pulling his wife over.

“Hello, Nick,” she says. Bonnie doesn't flinch when she wraps her arms around me. I'm still not quite used to all this physical contact, and being hugged by Judy's mom leaves me feeling more than a bit awkward. Best I can do to return the gesture is give her a pat on the back.

“So... 'Wilde' huh? That... sure is a fox name, isn't it?” says Stu. “Not quite as... erm... urban as I thought it'd...”

He clears his throat. “I mean! That is... well when Judy said she was dating a... a fox, I didn't expect someone as fine and well-mannered as... we do business with a fox you know. Gideon Gray? Best baker in the entire tri-buroughs. We should have him bring over some pies. You like blueberries, right Nick?”

The shit-eating grin must've been frozen on my face, because Judy pipes up suddenly as if trying to draw attention away from the moment.

“Oh! You guys finally redid the front door?” I give it a glance as I pass through. Apparently as a guest I'm allowed to head in first with Judy, Bonnie, and Stu, while the rest of the Hopps family has to trickle in behind us. The door might've been repainted a glossy shade of lavender, but the peach frame was still a bit faded and dusty.

“Ha yeah, yeah...” Stu says with a nervous tic. He's taken off his hat now and he's fanning himself, still looking quite flushed. “Life on the farm, there's always something that needs fixing.”

Judy takes me around the warren, giving me the full tour while her parents and Cory linger behind a few steps.

“So here's the children's playroom,” says Judy as we walk through a twenty-foot domed atrium with a big bookshelf on one end, scattered pillows for pillow forts, and a pile of board games. Huh. Glad to see PawPads and laptops haven't taken over everything.

“The living room. We always settle in here after dinner for coffee.” Six large coffee tables had been placed in the room. An elderly bunny sits at one of them, and when I walk past he looks up at me from his game of solitaire and scowls. Hmm. Gonna be tough to win Gramps over.

Three big semicircle sofas had been built a couple feet deeper into depressions in the floor, each one facing a flatscreen TV. A cluster of teenage bunnies sit in front of one, playing Scaly Squad on their PreyStation. One of them lets out a triumphant whoop when his crocodile ninja punches a turtle through a wall.

“Aaand this is the dining room!”

My jaw drops. The place is about as big as the ZPD cafeteria. There are a dozen tables, each seating up to eight. At least a hundred rabbits are here. Most of them are sitting down to a meal, though the older ones are either keeping the younger ones in line, clearing the dishes, or helping out in the kitchen. Squalling tykes are playing-slash-eating at the kids' tables, while other bunnies are chatting excitedly at others. The smell of carrots, collard greens, and mashed potatoes fills the air.

All of a sudden a hush falls on the crowd, and a hundred pairs of eyes lock onto me and Judy.

Gulp.

 

~~~~~

 

Two hours later, I flop into my bed an utterly exhausted fox.

All of the overtures had been friendly enough. _Too_ friendly honestly, despite the nervous glances and forced smiles from some of the adults and older teens. Now and then I'd see one of them staring at me, and when he noticed I had noticed he'd suddenly look away. I'd just sigh then. After all, you had to expect some tension on seeing me and Judy together.

A dozen family members mushed in with us at the table to listen to Judy's stories of the big city, and even more siblings or visiting relatives would be milling in and out to say quick hellos or offer warm hugs. It'd been real welcoming at first, but as time wore on the parade of new names and faces just kept coming. I was trying desperately to make a good impression and remember everyone who shook my paw, but forty minutes in I was starting to crack.

“Huh I didn't know foxes could be vegetarians.”

“Ha! Pawpsicles! Really?”

“Oh Mr. Wilde you've just _got_ to try my peach and blueberry cobbler...”

Judy was in her element, gabbing away and catching up with her siblings, happy as could be. She actually seemed to draw from the energy of the crowd and get even more chipper than before. I didn't realize that was possible. All of a sudden it made sense why Judy's bed was covered with a bunch of plush animals. Living in an apartment on her own in the city must've been as jarring for her as the warren life is for me.

Now and again the subject of Shepsfield came up though, and we had to awkwardly redirect the conversation elsewhere. Must've happened three or four times before word rippled through the grapevine that it was a subject we just weren't ready to discuss.

As much as I tried to keep up with the conversation, as time wore on I could feel the energy draining from me. I was this lone red fox standing among a horde of chattering bunnies, their gray and brown ears swaying back and forth like blades of grass in a giant plush field. The smell of home cooking and the creamy-grassy scent of bunny was thick in the air, condensing even further by the moment to the point that I felt I might choke on it. The world started to melt into a blur of pink and lavender walls and peach carpeting.

I downed a second helping of cobbler before I made my gracious exit, and a few of the kids were kind enough to guide me through the warren and into the guest room where I'd be staying. It was far, far away from Judy's room, which was fair. Their family was trying to be open-minded about a fox staying with them already, and it wouldn't do to push it.

A full belly and a splitting headache don't make a good combination, and it takes me a minute before I realize that I'm lying on two beds that'd been pushed together. My head's still spinning as I reach up and tug my tie loose, pulling it over my head and letting it drop to the floor. I undo the first few buttons of my Pawaiian shirt as well, and once that's done I nuzzle into the pillow. None of that bunny smell that'd gotten so sickly sweet, thankfully. Just rosemary-scented laundry detergent. Crisp and clean.

My headache's receded to a dull throb when I hear a little knock at he door.

“Euuughhhh...” I groan, dragging myself out of the bed.

To my surprise, it isn't Judy at the door, but one of her brothers. The guy who'd picked us up from the station.

“Oh, hey, uh...” I fumble for a name. Damn. My brain just isn't working right now.

“Cory.” He grins, walking in bearing two mugs on a tray. “Thought you might like a drink. Judy made several big ol' tubs of this Tigrian tea and it's starting to be a real big hit around the warren.”

“Oh. Uh... thanks...” I murmur, blinking to try to clear my vision.

“Also thought you might like some of this,” he says, reaching into his pocket. The bottle of bunny-grade aspirin rattles in his paw.

“Oh my god Cory, you're a lifesaver.” I almost feel like kissing him when he rolls out several of the tablets onto my paw, and I down them with a mouthful of chai. The flavors of cinnamon, cardamom, black tea, and almond milk bloom on my tongue, and I flop back into the sheets waiting for the painkillers to kick in.

Cory takes a seat next to me.

“Sorry if that was a little overwhelming. We pretty much never have non-bunny guests this deep in the warren, so we tend to forget it can be a bit much.”

“How do you guys manage? I grew up in Happytown, probably the slummiest area there is in the City, and even we weren't crammed shoulder to shoulder like you guys are.”

Cory shrugs. “Oh I suppose when you grow up with it it comes off as normal. Plus we tend to organize by litters, which make things easier. I'm actually from the same one as Judy... she came out right after me. Then there's Stacey, Dixie, Clover, and Buster. You probably don't remember, but they were the ones sitting closest to her at the table.”

The names sound familiar, but I can't attach them to the right faces at the moment.

“Anyway I'll let you get some rest. If you prefer I'll bring dinner in for you if you need some more time to adjust.”

“Actually I think if I can get some coffee later, I'll be fine. Especially with these.” I raise the aspirin bottle and give it a rattle.

“I'll put on a pot then,” Cory chuckles as he gets up. “Well... I just wanna say, um... we never expected Judy to... y'know. With a fox. But we're all glad she did. Her whole life she's been so focused on being a cop that she's never had a real relationship before. She seems real happy.”

“Honestly,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows. “I should be thanking you guys. I guess the two of us were worried about nothing.”

Cory's smile falters.

I sit up a bit straighter. “Something wrong?”

“Well it's just...” he bites his lip. “Look, promise to keep this to yourself, all right?”

“Keep what to myself?”

Cory sighs, shutting the door for the moment. “I'm sure you must've picked up on how nervous some of us were earlier today. Dad especially. It's not anything to do with you, really, it's just...”

Honestly, the whole way here I'd tried to stay open-minded on my end too. That is, to not jump to conclusions that all the bunnies here were gonna be bigoted hicks looking to strip my tail so they can hang my fur on their car antennas. And yeah, even with the bumpy first meeting it hadn't been all that bad. Frankly, I was stressing out more from the headache than the nervous undercurrent that was flowing through lunch.

Cory scrubs a paw over his head. “This morning when we were heading out to the fields we noticed someone scrawled something nasty on our front door. It must've been one of the neighbor kids, but... well with so many bunnies in the area it's impossible to know who it was. All it said was...”

I say it so he doesn't have to.

“Predo.”

That explains it then. Stu's jitters. The nervous glances around the table. The fresh coat of paint on the door, even though the frame hadn't been done.

“Look, I'm not tellin' you this to warn you away from her or anything. The opposite really... we're all rooting for you two. It's so great to see Judy with someone special in her life, and it's not easy for her to find another bunny in the big city, but you seem like a really nice guy for a... you're just a real nice guy.” He's doing that bunny thing now, where he's talking at this rapid-fire pace. If it were any other species I'd suspect it's him being nervous. “Just... if anyone here seems a little on edge around you, just please believe me when I say it ain't nothing to do with you bein' a fox. Not much at least. We're all just a little shaken by the vandalism. We've known our neighbors our entire lives and the thought that someone would write _that_ on our door...”

“Honestly...” I shrug, “That makes me feel a bit better, if anything. Knowing that crap is coming from the outside instead of being in here. I'm guessing that living around Judy your whole lives kinda makes you a bit more liberal about that stuff.

“Yeah... yeah I suppose,” Cory smiles nervously, “Just... please don't tell Judy. Knowing her she'll probably wanna investigate the matter and most of us just prefer to forget it happened.”

“Well, if there's one thing us foxes are good at,” I grin, “It's keeping secrets.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment, it helps push me to keep writing. Planning on updating weekly, every Thursday with the occasional bonus chapter. Cover art here ( http://i.imgur.com/OKzapyC.jpg ) is by the ever-amazing Monoflax, King of Floof. Please check out his gallery! He's got an upcoming comic, Nirlock, that looks to be amazing fun! ( http://monoflaxart.tumblr.com/ and http://monoflax.deviantart.com/ )
> 
> Please note that this also explores dark, adult themes, so avert your eyes, precious childrens!


	2. The White Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy gets word of odd occurrences in Zootopia, while Tarquin Vash has a hot date night.
> 
> (ADULT CONTENT WARNING)

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

_"Try Carroty Yum-Yums! With Carrot-y Yum-Yums in eve-ry_ _**bite** _ _!"_

The corny old jingle blares through the radio. Me and my siblings used to sing it all the time when we were little, and even as my sisters nod along to the tune I can't help but feel just a _little_ embarrassed that I used to like it. I really don't want to turn into one of those city girls who outgrows her old home, but after living in Zootopia for almost a year I'd forgotten how simple things could be back on the farm.

_"Carroty Yum-Yums! Comes in Original, Cinnamon, Nutty Crunch, and now in Maple Sugar flavor!"_

I sift through the gym bag filled with the spices I'd brought. I'd always been under the impression that spices were expensive, but Benjy was able to recommend a wholesaler in Tigriatown. A sack full of cardamom, a few pounds of cinnamon, and a good pack of cloves... whew. Still cost a hundred bucks, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. This should last at least the week.

The chai recipe that Danny taught me had been a big hit last night. In fact, mom and dad were thinking of putting it on the regular drink menu. It's nice being able to bring something back from the City for the family. Bunnyburrow isn't the rural backwater Nick thinks it is, but it always can use a little poke now and again to show what's fashionable these days.

"So..." Stacy shoots me a mischievous smile as she breaks the cardamom pods open in the mortar. The two of us look the most similar out of the rest of our littermates, with her gray fur and blue eyes. "What does he sleep in? Does he go in the buff?"

"Boxers," I say as I blitz the cinnamon and cloves in the coffee grinder. For the Kaplans, pre-ground would never do. They'd insisted that you always have to grind whole spices, preferably after toasting them, to get the best flavor.

Dixie looks up at me. She resembles dad the most, with her brown eyes and brown fur. She's a bit stocky like him, too. Which is good, since she handles a lot of the mechanical repair on the farm.

"And how is it you know that?" she asks.

The heat suddenly rises to my face, and I turn on the coffee grinder again. You don't have to reduce it to a powder, but right now I just need the sound of the motor whirring to drown out my embarrassment.

Not that it gets Stacey to keep her stupid mouth shut.

"Oh come on, you can't expect them to have NOT slept together by now..."

Clover rolls her eyes as she whisks mashed bananas into the soy milk. "Oh god, here we go."

Stacey giggles, "Don't tell me you wouldn't. That tail of his... mmm I wanna just wrap myself in it. And he's just so... sleek. And streamlined. You saw how he moved darting to first base last night."

Some of the teenage kits had invited Nick to play baseball with them last night, after he had some time to recover. Even though cards and pool are usually more Nick's thing, training at the Academy had filled him out a bit. He'd been able to hold his own pretty well on the field.

"I swear Judy," Clover huffs, "You're gonna ruin this family. Stacey was already halfway to going predo even before you brought Nick home."

Dixie just shakes her head and chuckles, "Well I gotta admit I had my doubts, but seeing him out on the field last night..."

"Not you too!"

"What I was _saying_ ," Dixie continues, glaring at Clover as she sifts the flour, "Was that Nick is really great with the kids. Honestly, I felt my heart leap into my throat when I watched that fox chasing Oscar down to tag him, but he's just so _gentle_ with everyone."

I have to admit, even I was a little bit startled. I've seen Nick chase down perps. He's not quite as fast as a rabbit of course, but when he hunkers down and runs he looks like a sharp red bullet with his pointed muzzle piercing the air. Plus when he moves his tail right he can turn on a dime, which is something us bunnies aren't quite built for. If we want to change directions quick we need to ricochet off of something.

Seeing him dart after the kits had brought up a primitive little edge of fear, but I'm still working on that. It's easy to say you're perfectly fine with foxes and other predators, but the past few months have taught me that it takes a constant, conscious effort to fend off that instinctive fear of fangs an claws and the mammals they're attached to.

I open the lid to the coffee grinder a little too early, and a fine mist of powdered spices drifts up. The smell of freshly ground cinnamon and cloves is woody and sweet. "Oh he's great with kids. We've actually been bringing this kit on police ride-alongs with us, and Nick's just _such_ a sweetheart with him. You really should hear the two banter. It's almost like they're brothers."

"Is he still asleep?" Dixie asks, pouring the flour into the stand mixer. "We could use his help on the potato station."

"Nick's nocturnal. Just let him sleep in a little," I say, dumping the powdered spices into the pot. Stacy pours in the cardamom.

"Can you really trust him though? I mean, you did say he used to be a con artist, right?" says Clover.

I knew that if anyone was going to give me any trouble it was gonna be Clover. She's the second youngest in our litter, but she's probably the most old-fashioned when it comes to some things. Honestly, if she weren't my littermate I'd probably have some _much_ harsher words for her.

"He _u_ _sed to_ be a con artist. I trust Nick with my life, sis," I tell her firmly. "And he's saved me more than once."

"I still can't believe he did that," Stacey sighs, "It sounds just like something out of a movie, y'know? Him telling you he won't leave your side when you're hurt, and... Oh Judy, you've _got_ to tell us what it felt like having his fangs on you."

She wraps her arms around herself, smiling happily, while Clover lets out a disgusted snort..

As flirtatious as Stacey is I didn't expect she'd get so smitten with Nick. And honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about her new thing for foxes. On the one paw, a little more inter-species acceptance would be great. But on the other, well... there certainly are things I'd had to learn when I got into a relationship with a fox. I might just have to pull Stacey aside and have a _really_ embarrassing and personal conversation with her.

"Weren't you scared?" says Clover.

I nearly jump a foot in the air, startled when I suddenly think that Clover's somehow read my mind and was asking about me and Nick's first night together. They really need to cover these things in high school Health classes.

My brain races, trying to backtrack to our conversation.

"W-well, I'd be lying if I said I was _completely_ comfortable with it but..." my face must be so red. I kinda regret volunteering for breakfast duty now. "It was much more exciting than it was scary. I mean I had to focus more on getting Bellwether to fess up everything while I recorded her."

I still think back to that. Not just the excitement of snagging Bellwether in her confession, but the feeling of Nick's fangs on me. The scream I'd belted out was partially real, but when Nick withdrew with that coy smile of his... gosh I just wanted to kiss him then.

It would be nice if he'd gently bite me again, honestly. In bed that is, just to add a little thrill to it. He's just so restrained and careful about hurting me otherwise. Never in a million years did I think I'd ever consider doing predplay, but Stacey's right. Nick does have this sexy, dangerous edge to him that makes him seem like such a bad boy on the surface, even though I know that deep down he wouldn't hurt a fly. Eugh. I hate to admit it, but I'm smitten.

"You should stay a little longer, Judy. The Carrot Days Festival is just around the corner. It'd be nice to show Nick how lively things can get around here," Dixie winks. "He'll be sure to win you something nice at the shooting gallery."

"Oooh I wish I could," I say as I fill the pot and turn up the heat. "But the ZIA's coming in the following week to set up a task force. It's why we're visiting now... once we start working on the case with them..." I cross my fingers, hoping desperately that I get picked. "We won't be able to visit at all for a while."

"I think I heard about that!" Clover pipes up, finally looking a bit cheerful. She must be just as glad as I am to move away from the subject of predophilia and interspecies relations. "They say Jack Savage is coming back to the City!"

"What, you really think he exists?" Dixie flicks the stand mixer on to whisk the pancake batter.

"I wonder what species he is. I'm guessing a big cat, like a panther or a tiger," Stacey sighs, slipping into a whole new fantasy.

"I dunno, if he isn't just some rumor I'd guess polar bear," says Dixie, "I can't imagine anything more intimidating than that."

"He could be a prey mammal. An elk or antelope maybe," Clover offers after mulling it over for a bit. "The whole 'Savage' moniker could just be a way to throw people off of his real identity."

I keep quiet, smiling to myself as my sisters go on. The fact that Jack Savage is a rabbit is kind of an open secret in the ZPD. It's kind of a small miracle that this little fact seems to have been kept from the public record all this time, but then again the ZIA spreads plenty of false narratives and rumors as counterintelligence. Apparently his species was uncovered when he had to work with the police for one of his missions a few years back, though only Bogo and a few higher-ups really know who he is and what he looks like.

My heart skips a beat at the thought of meeting him finally. Another bunny in a field where bigger, brawnier mammals dominated. We even use the same firearm model... the RGS-14. Heck, it'd originally been designed specifically for him! I hope he's nice.

Listening to my sisters speculate on Savage's species I begin to wonder what he looks like. What color is his coat? Does he have a pattern? His name makes me think of a stoic black bunny, with hard gold eyes like a cat's. He's sleek, dangerous, maybe standing aloof beneath a lamppost on a moonlit night...

The buzz from my cellphone interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh!" I say as I check who's calling me. "Sorry, I need to take this. Stacey can you watch the chai?" I dash out of the kitchen and down the hall.

It's not that I don't like the idea of Fru Fru calling me. I am, after all, her child's godmother. But the idea of having to explain how I became linked to a family with Mr. Big's... _background_... would've been too much. They're already easing into accepting Nick into the fold. Having to tell them about how I became friends with a crime boss, or worse, _lying_ about it, would be too much.

"Hi Fru Fru!" I say cheerfully as I answer the phone. "It's great to hear from you!"

" _Oh Judyyyy!_ " she squeals, " _How's the family? They good with Nick right now?_ "

"Better than expected actually! I mean things were a little bumpy at first, but my siblings have really taken to him. And well, my parents are definitely trying!" Mom had been managing about as well as my older brothers and sisters, though Dad still seems like he's in a state of shock.

" _Well, I just wanted to call and tell you that I'll be heading out of town for a few months, so we won't be seeing much of each other. I mean, it's not like we'll be seeing each other much anyway, if the rumors about the ZIA are true..."_

I can't help but stand a little straighter when she says that. It's a bit of an awkward balancing act already, with me as a cop and yet being on such good terms with one of the major crime bosses in Zootopia. Turns out though that Mr. Big had kept things clean enough that the Mayor, the City Council, and the ZPD were all willing to look the other way. Unlike other mobs that wanted a piece of the City, Mr. Big was civil. And his presence helped keep all the other criminal elements in check.

"I... I shouldn't ask but..." I swallow. Mr. Big was smart enough to not ask me for any favors, and he'd never put me in a predicament before. But if he was leaving Zootopia because of the ZIA, that likely meant he's done something that was worthy of a crackdown.

I want to hit myself. I can't believe I hadn't thought of how this might complicate things. Bogo knows of my connection to Mr. Big, and I've been pretty good about remaining neutral so far. But if Savage's team learned about it I might be disqualified from consideration for his task force. Or worse, I might just get tangled up in...

" _Oh no no! It's nothing like that! Daddy isn't afraid of the ZIA. He's... he's worried about something else, Judy. Something he won't tell me._ "

I wish I could breathe a sigh of relief at that, but there's a sharp prickle of fear in Fru Fru's voice.

"Fru Fru... are you okay? Are things safe for you?"

" _I'm fiiine Judy, really! And so is Little Judy!_ " she squeaks, " _Just... be careful all right? Everyone's bein' real moody right now, and there's been a lotta whispering in the Family. They aren't filling me in, but I know it's something dangerous. So stay safe._ "

When I hang up I lean against the wall. Around the corner I can hear my sisters still chatting, when one of them yelps. Buster had walked in apparently, shirtless and hungry as usual coming in from his morning jog. They're yelling at him to put on some damn clothes, and to keep his sweaty paws away from the food.

I head off to wake up Nick, giggling a little at the banter even as the suspicious weight of the news settles on me. As much as I'd missed being home, we need to talk about possibly ending our vacation a little early.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Tarquin Vash** _

 

“More wine?”

Sheila smiles, her sapphire eyes bright in contrast to her snow-white fur. “Well, when the district attorney offers, how can a vixen resist?”

“She doesn't,” I grin, gesturing for the _garcon_. A tall moose with an elegant stride arrives at our table in three steps. He has to lean down to fill her glass with a chilled bottle of _'83 Cotes du Rhodentes_ chablis, a bottle from my own collection. The _maitre d'_ had offered to waive the uncorking fee, but I wouldn't allow it of course. Chances were he'd just omit it from the check, but if so I'd just have to tack that onto the tip.

Sheila had been skeptical at first. As a writer for Chomp magazine her staunch preference for pairing escargot with wine had always been champagne. Not that I have anything against it, but I knew from personal experience that the minerality of a good chablis was much better with these particular herb-fed snails. It had a sharper finish too, and it cut through the butter more effectively. That, and its fruity notes would work just as well with the _poulet au riesling_ I'd planned for our entree.

I've been feeling a genuine connection with Sheila. She's smart and funny, with none of the self-deprecation that often came from having studied literature in college instead of something more directly career-oriented. She has such a wonderfully down-to-earth nature, yet is still perfectly comfortable with my more formal sensibilities.

Oh don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly comfortable going out for a burger and a beer just like anyone else, but when it comes down to it this is who I am. It's who I've been cultivated to be. The fine cuisine and expensive wines aren't merely some gauche and pretentious way of impressing her. It's simple honesty. Sheila knows it. And she likes it.

And I like her for it in return.

“So how much access do you have, Tarquin?” Sheila pulls a snail out from its shell with her fork, twisting it to keep too much of the herb butter from dripping off. “Not to get into crass talk about business, but I'd be an idiot if I didn't ask.”

“Frankly, I appreciate crass business talk from a date to them playing coy about it,” I shrug. “Besides there's no conflict of interest. I could get us a table at, say... _Canard Bleu_ next week?”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. “That's... there's a six-month waiting list!”

“They have a table they keep in reserve for high-profile guests. Being district attorney does open some doors. I'm just selective about taking them. You'd be surprised by the things I've been offered. Free meals, suits, even sports cars from those interested in getting on my good side.”

“And you've rejected all of them?”

“Of course,” I smile.

“The incorruptible Tarquin Vash...” she leans over. I start to wonder if she's just trying to give me a good view of her cleavage. “You really _are_ the most honest fox in this city.”

“I would credit the privilege of my upbringing more than any effort on my part.” It was, after all, easy to stay on the good side of the law when you never had want of anything.

“Oh I'd say you get some personal credit at least. Somehow you didn't grow up to be a spoiled little shit.”

“Oh I had my rebellious side, certainly,” I reply, taking a sip of wine. The buttery richness of the sauce was like velvet on my tongue, and the chablis slit through it like a razor.

“Sounds like you were more interesting then.”

I blink. “My dear, did you just call me _boring_?”

Sheila just smiles, swirling a finger around the rim of her glass, and lets out a giggle. “Oh I take it back. If anything it just makes you more fun to tease.”

“Even better,” I wink over my wine. “I like being teased.”

Two hours later we're in the suite I'd bought for the night. Her mouth is on mine, and I can taste the lingering traces of raspberry mousse on her tongue. I want to be gentle, take my time and please her thoroughly on our first night together, but Sheila has other plans.

Her claws rake into my fur, leaving stinging trails along my back. Her body moves like water against mine, shifting and flowing, her snow-white fur grinding into my own cream-colored coat. I fumble for the condom on the dresser, but she brushes my paw aside.

“Don't worry, I'm safe...” she pants, “I'm safe...”

The musk of her heat fills my nose.

Few things shock me. A lawyer can't, after all, afford to be taken by surprise. Yet I'd underestimated Sheila's ferocity in the bedroom, and she's on me like an animal. We press our paws together, interlacing our fingers. Our tails intertwine. Her blue eyes sparkle, her mouth curves into a pleased smile. We're only on our third date, but already we're making love as if we've been doing it for years. As if we've long known all the sweet spots on each other's bodies.

There's none of that slow, gentle exploration when mammals embrace for the first time. There's no mature, sober talk about our likes or dislikes before we get into it. We're connecting on something deeper, more primal, and somehow we've slipped into the same fiery rhythm together.

I'm holding her body against mine, shuddering at the sensation of being inside her. She's so hot inside, yet her fur is so silky and cool. My paws slide up and down her back, feeling the fine, lean muscles of her shoulders and, as I go lower, the soft curves of her hips. She arches her head back, giving the inside of my ear one long lick as she moves, bouncing gently on my waist.

It leaves me shuddering.

And then with one heavy press I let out a sharp hiss. She slips around me completely, and we hold each other tight and ride out that sweet crest together.

Panting into each other's ears we give one final squeeze, and finally pull away from one another. Sheila's sitting comfortably in my lap as she presses me back into the sheets, giving me one last kiss before she sits back up. Her paws run through my chestfur, admiring my coat. After a few long moments, allowing our breathing to taper off gradually, she speaks in a low purr, tracing a finger along my sternum.

“What are you thinking about, Tarquin?”

“Trying to think up a conversation piece that doesn't just include complimenting your body,” I smile. “Afraid I'm failing in that regard.”

“What? Are you saying that I'm so beautiful that it drives your excellent mind to distraction?”

“Precisely. Do avoid the courtroom, my dear. If you were ever around when I have to present a case I'm afraid you might just tank my career.”

Sheila giggles, and it's such a rich, playful sound that I barely hear the door opening with a click.

I'm confused for a moment... I'm sure I'd put the sign up to ward off the housekeeper. Yet Sheila has only a moment to turn her head around to look at who'd just entered when the pop of a silenced gun cracks through the room.

The bullet exits with a spray of blood and brain matter, snow-white fur and skin spread outward like the petals of a rosebud in bloom. Sheila falls against me, mouth half-open, jaw still twitching. Blood spills in hot, scarlet pulses from the twin wounds in her skull. Those sapphire eyes of hers, so bright with her laughter just moments ago, stare blankly into he distance.

“ _Ahh! AAAAH!_ ”

The wails filling the room are shrill, mangled to a staccato with shock and terror. For a moment it fails to register in my mind that Sheila is dead: that this sweet, beautiful, brilliant vixen is now lying inert over me. But then the figure slips in, still holding the gun. Wisps of smoke curl from the tip of the silencer.

“N-no please! Please!” I squeal. In my nakedness, with the corpse of my lover sprawled over me and the blood soaking into the sheets, all formality and dignity have fled. “I don't want to die! P-please! I d-don't want to die!”

“Shhh...” the fox says, so gently, so sweetly, that I'm almost convinced I might just live through this encounter. He's sleek, and his bone-white fur matches perfectly with his suit. His coloring is so pristine that he almost seems invisible against the snowy carpet and walls. His mouth is curved in an amused, almost boyish smile, and there's a playfulness in his sky-blue eyes. Lean and handsome, he could've almost been a twin brother to Sheila, if it weren't for the gun in his paw and the nonchalance of having just committed a murder.

“District Attorney Tarquin Vash...” he says in silky, cheerful voice. “The Incorruptible, they call you. Well, they said the same of Rodentspierre, did they not?”

And then his free paw reaches down between my legs. I let out a squeak, and my heels scrape the sheets as I writhe. He squeezes me down there, kneading gently with warm fingers.

“Ah. Just knotted her I see. Must be quite inconvenient for you. No matter, this will keep you here just long enough for us to speak.”

Two other figures slip in behind him.

"Allow me to introduce my companions." He raises one paw to a red fox. His eyes are stern and joyless, almost dead. "To my left is Jacob Frisk. And this..." he says, indicating another fox. His fur is black as pitch, his face crisscrossed by pale scars. "Is Mr. Smythe."

“Y-you're...” I whimper.

"Sebastian Dusk. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vash."

"Th-the Smiler..."

It comes out in a mewling sob, and for a moment I'm convinced that I'm about to die. But his grin merely widens, and his eyes glitter, those sky-blue pupils bright and laughing. "Ah! So you've heard of me. Well... then you know of my employer."

"R-Rufin-" Just as I begin to stutter though, Sebastian places a finger on my nose.

"Mongrel lips such as yours defile his noble name," he says. Though the words carry a deadly threat, his tone remains hauntingly pleasant. "You will refer to him as 'The Prince.'"

Long ago, when I was a kit still ignorant of the world, his true name was one that was spoken in hushed tones, if at all. It'd been a darker age in Zootopia's history, one in which the old blood was finally fading from prominence, when the rise of telecommunications sparked the dream of connecting mammals in a way that they never had been before. The small were being elevated, the aristocracies of old being cast down. It was a time when silent wars raged beneath the optimism of a new age of equality, when the encroaching millennium heralded change. It was a time when the old gods, in their fury, sought to depose the idolatry of the new.

I'd only known of this fox on paper, as a boogeyman consigned to the annals of history. But now his herald sits beside me in the flesh, accepting a pawkerchief from the one he'd called Jacob Frisk. He wipes the mingled juices of my lovemaking from his fingers.

“This was a demonstration, Mr. Vash,” Sebastian says in a lilting, almost singsong voice. “To show you how serious we are. Many in this city have forgotten that The Prince casts a long shadow, and I have come to give you a reminder. Are we understood?”

I want to be brave. I want to tell him that, as the District Attorney of the greatest city in the world, I will see justice done. Yet even though Sheila's dead I can still feel her lingering heartbeat against my chest. The sheer horror of feeling her corpse on me, still warm, still twitching, has sapped all the courage from my spirit.

“Wh... what do you want?” I whimper.

“Jacob?” he says, addressing the red fox. Jacob slides a paw into his jacket, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He sets it on the nightstand.

“These are the names of twenty-one mammals whose sentences or prosecutions will need to be vacated.”

Reaching over with trembling fingers I unfold the paper. The names are scribed in a neat paw, but as I scan the page my eyes widen more and more.

“Th... that's not possible!” I plead. “My prosecutors have been working on these cases for months! And the... the system needs me to work through the courts, the mayor... there's so much that needs to be approved and cross-checked...”

The scarred black fox unsheathes a curved dagger, and at the sight of it I'm about to start pleading for my life when Sebastian gestures him away.

“You're a clever fox,” Sebastian says. The perpetual smile along that white muzzle is deadly, like a knife drawn across a pale throat. “I have every confidence that you'll find shortcuts through the maze of Zootopian bureaucracy. Besides, the mammals in question were selected quite carefully. Most of them have mitigating circumstances working in their favor.”

“It's not that simple!” I try to insist. But Sebastian ignores my protests, and continues as if I haven't spoken whatsoever.

“If they are not freed within two weeks, our second encounter will be much less pleasant, and much more final. But if you obey like a good little pet...” I flinch when he reaches out, cupping my face with both paws. The pistol he holds presses against my cheek, and the muzzle is warm like the body of a live adder. Sebastian pulls me forward then. He smells faintly of fabric softener and catnip.

“Obey,” he says brightly, “and the Prince will consider you family. The Vulpes Sanguinis takes care of its own.”

He stands up then, straightening his jacket. “Now, I do believe you've relaxed enough. Don't worry, my good tod. Jacob and Mr. Smythe here will take care of the body. Have a good evening.”

Without a word the black fox and the red one pull Sheila from me. I slip free from her easily now, and as they wrap her up in the sheets the warmth of her grows cold and clammy on my loins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 2 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Posting a second chapter in quick succession just to get the ball rolling. I have a decent backlog of complete chapters right now, which will help me even things out with editing and ensure I get these pumped out at a steady pace. Expect the next one to come in a week at the latest.
> 
> Initially the Tarquin Vash section was packaged with the in media res cold open to be Chapter 1. However, one of my beta readers found this version really difficult to read, because it made the entire chapter very very dark, so I decided to switch things out a bit. That way Ch1 starts with a dark note and ends fuzzy, and Ch2 starts fuzzy but ends dark. Some changing of tone across a chapter makes things much more exciting, doncha think?
> 
> Also, please note that I didn't make the end of this chapter gruesome for grusomeness' sake. I despise frivolous use of violence in writing. I just wanted to press the point the sheer brutality and callousness of our antagonists here. That for them, even the most intimate of moments isn't sacred.
> 
> Please like and comment if you're so inclined!


	3. An Honest Tod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy nearly kills himself at the gym, Jack Savage sifts through paperwork.

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

"Hey, Benjy. Chest and arm day right?"

Katya greets me with a purr and a smile as I step out of the locker room. Her eyes flick up and down my body. I'm wearing my gray tank top, my black workout shorts, and my fingerless workout gloves. Some prefer to go without, but at my level it's pretty crucial in helping to prevent calluses and blisters. Plus they help improve my grip. I've taken my BCAAs and my omega-3s, carbed up on my dinner of spinach curry over brown rice, and I've got half a pot of coffee in me to help provide a little exttra pep.

Katya- it's taken some time for me to stop thinking of her as Officer Furlong- has got my weekly workout schedule memorized for a while now. She smells like lemongrass and jasmine, and beneath it her warm, sultry feminine scent is nicely muted. I wish I could tell her how much I appreciate it without sounding awkward. Not because I particularly like lemongrass or jasmine, but more because Katya's never tried to bait me. You know... the way some females will skip on their suppressants on occasion, so the scent of their heat will be in full bloom when they approach a male they're interested in.

It used to drive me nuts, when the females at the precinct would pull that shit on me. It was a complete tease, getting me all worked up when there was no way in hell I could bring one of them back to my apartment, not with the distinct aroma of nip coming from Danny and Luke's bedroom. Or, knowing them, they'd have a sex swing rigged up in the living room. Or they'd be chasing Chester around smacking his ass with a crop as they're kitted out in their bondage gear. A quick toss in the sheets with a female isn't worth risking that shit.

I mean sure, I could've just gone over to the lady's place instead, but that kind of highlights the embarrassment of my living situation, that I absolutely canNOT bring a female over. It's hard enough to get the two to be on their best behavior when I have Nick and Judy over for dinner, and that's only because Danny and Luke like the two enough to not want to scare them off.

Besides, the females in the precinct don't like me for who I am. They just try to entice me specifically because they keep mistaking me for my goddamn backup dancer twin brother. As if I don't hear them whispering about sequined shorts or claiming they saw me perform at Gazelle's recent concert.

Katya though... when I bump into her I can hear Gramma's voice in the back of my mind telling me to settle down and plant some great-grandkids in that already. Katya's pretty much the perfect tigress to bring back home to meet the folks... modern but down-to-earth, and with just enough ties to tradition that she wouldn't ruffle any feathers with the old Temple-going crowd back home. And she definitely seems to pick up on the grumpy vibe I exude when other females try to get into my pants. Katya keeps a respectful distance, but it's clear she's interested.

"Yep," I give my chest a little pat. "Biceps and pectorals."

"What's on the menu specifically?" Katya mostly just uses the room reserved for yoga, but I've seen her work the weights too. I really respect that. Not enough females do weight training, and they probably need it more than guys do. It's not simply for strength, but to help maintain their bone density as time goes on. That and kicking the shit out of perverts if they get accosted going home at night.

"Barbell bench, cable flys, incline dumbbell benches, incline flys, curls, weighted pullups." The exact weights I'm at are stored in a spreadsheet I keep on my phone, but the exercises themselves I know like the back of my paw. "I do cardio in the morning though."

Katya's eyes widen. She seems impressed. "You know, if you ever decide to get out of the field you could always work as a resident trainer."

"Why? Looking for someone to help you out?"

"Am I that transparent?" she grins. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'd be better company than Wolfard. He's a great guy, but he wouldn't be as familiar with the dynamics of feline physiology."

"Oh I dunno, we've been together long enough that he's gotten pretty accustomed to it."

Katya tilts her head slightly and gives me a funny look.

"Oh... OH! No, I didn't mean it that way!" I say hastily. Jeez, and just while I was thinking about this very thing just now. Then again, it's kinda nice that Katya is less _overtly_ sensual than others on the force. Subtle enough to get me to lower my guard, at least.

Katya chuckles. "God you're such an asshole, making me come right out and say it. But... would you like to do dinner sometime? There's a great place in Sahara Square you might like..."

"I..." God, she's beautiful, with her hazel eyes and pearly fangs. We tigers tend towards a pretty dense build, but Katya's got a lithe suppleness to her. Gotta be the yoga.

"I can't."

Her tail flicks as she stares at me, waiting for an explanation.

"It's not you, really. I'd really love to but..." I scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "It's kind of a personal thing. My living situation..."

She rolls her eyes at that. "Oh come on, Benjy. I'm not asking you to take me home after. It's just dinner. Besides," she grins, "if it comes to that, my place is free."

God that'd be nice. Despite all the casual male-on-male stuff Danny and Luke drag me into, I'm a pretty middle-of-the-road bisexual. Actually, I kinda lean a bit more towards the straight end of the scale some days. But it'd been years since I've laid with a gal, and as much as I want to...

"Maybe another time."

She takes it well enough. Her smile doesn't even flicker. Katya knows I'm a bit of a loner, that it's hard to really get close to me. When I head into the weight room I see a very rotund cheetah panting and making himself miserable as he plods along the treadmill.

Usually you don't see Clawhauser in the gym. He's a little too embarrassed to work out with the rest of us. But with the ZIA coming in he's been trying to get in shape. The boxes of donuts and Lucky Chomps that cover the front desk are gone, and he's been doing his best to stick to a strict regimen of low-carb bug loaf and salad.

The first week was particularly tough for him, since most of the guys at the precinct still need their occasional danish in the break room. But once everyone noticed the lack of sweets and pastries at his station we all began to double down on getting in better shape too. Not just for ourselves, but to give Clawhauser some moral support. By the look of it he's already lost ten pounds.

Though honestly, if he's hoping to get picked for the task force the chances are slim. No one wants to break his heart by telling him the truth. As far as anyone knows Clawhauser's never had real field experience, and even if that weren't the case there's no way he'd get into shape in time.

You can almost hear the steel bar groaning with the mass of iron weights.

Even though Wolfard's been helping to spot me for the past couple years now, he still can't get used to seeing me bench. Each side of the barbell's been stacked with two hundred and seventy-five pounds, for an even six hundred total once you add the weight of the bar.

_"Good evening, I'm Antlerson Crouper, and this is ZNN. Our top story tonight, prey rights activists: citizens legitimately concerned about predator dominance, or crackpot conspiracy theorists? However mammals choose to describe them, the Zoother movement is gaining steam."_

As usual ZNN is blaring away in the background. Most gyms would keep the TVs muted, but here at the station the general attitude is that us cops need to be kept abreast of the important goings-on in the world. It's no problem really, just bring a bluetooth headset if you prefer to listen to your own thing.

I take a sip of water to prep myself for the set. Gotta stay hydrated when you exercise.

"Damn Benjy, you really should move on to the extra-large rigs at some point," says Wolfard.

I chuckle. Sure the bars and benches for polar bears could get up to a thousand pounds and more, and safely too, but I don't plan on pushing too far past this. I'm already in the elite category when it comes to raw core strength for a tiger, and that might be just a bit too much. Being able to take down a perp requires stamina and speed too, and pushing myself futher in weightlifting would mean I wouldn't be as well-rounded physically.

_"Everyone has it backwards,"_ a stag carrying a protest sign pops onto the screen, speaking into the reporter's mic. _"The fact is, the Savage Syndrome epidemic didn't come before Blue. Blue users who OD'ed were the ones who caused the Savage Syndrome panic in the first place. You got vicious preds hopped up on the hot new street drug tearing the city apart, so Lionheart tried covering it up. When that didn't work, the entire pred establishment turned it around on prey mammals, made it look like there was a sheep-run conspiracy. It goes DEEP."_

I give a snort of disgust. Well, that's fine. Good to get a little pissed off when you're about to do a set. Let the adrenaline motivate you.

Planting both paws on the bar, I lift off. My forearms tremble for a moment as I steady it, then gently lower the bar down to my chest, counting off the seconds as I do so. Two seconds down, two seconds up. That's the way to go if you wanna maximize your gains.

When you work with this much weight there's a certain inertia to it. It won't drift back and forth as much on its own, but when it does it does so slowly, and you better do a damn good job of correcting it. The bar touches my chest, and the steel is cold through my tank top. It presses firmly into my pectorals for a moment before I push again. In one smooth motion I exhale and straighten it out.

" _Lionheart's policies have been taking jobs away from mammals who deserve them, and given them to preds,_ " says another interviewee. I can't see the screen, but the lady's going on in an angry bleat so I can manage a guess as to her species. _"It might sound good to the new generation, but what they don't realize is that this is the face of new speciesism._ "

" _What about all the prey mammals who were able to enter traditionally predator-dominated fields?_ "

" _It's a myth. I don't know anyone on Flock Street who've benefitted from this nonsense._ "

The first five reps are easy, but by the sixth or seventh fatigue starts to set in. On number eight I begin to juice out, and this is when willpower and determination really need to kick into gear. I clench my jaw, focus, let out a little growl as I push.

On the ninth rep I'm nearing my limit. My forearms are trembling, my paws are getting sweaty. If it weren't for the workout gloves I'd be worried about the bar slipping.

And just as I start in on ten...

_"This just in, breaking news. Zootopia's District Attorney Tarquin Vash has resigned."_

"Wh-!"

My concentration lapses right as I'm about to complete this last rep. My muscles give way, my arms feel like they've suddenly turned to jelly. The bar falls, crushing my chest as I gasp, tail thrashing beneath me.

"F-fuck! FUCK!" I gasp.

Wolfard tries to help as my spotter, but the both of us combined can't manage to re-rack the weights. He's yelping for someone to help, and out of the corner of my eye I see a big round blur of yellow and gray lumbering towards us.

And then slowly, the weight on my chest begins to lessen. I push, and with the aid of two other mammals I set the bar back onto the holders with a heavy _clack_.

Clawhauser collapses next to me, panting and tugging at his gray tank top to fan his chest. Wolfard immediately starts to take the fifty-pounders off of each end.

"K-Kaplan..." Clawhauser wheezes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm... I'm good, thanks..." I pant, crawling off of the bench and rubbing my chest. That was going to leave a bruise. "You really saved me there."

"Barely!" he shakes his head. "How... how the heck do you manage that?"

"Worked up to it over ten years... Did you happen to catch what Crouper said?" I ask, still catching my breath as I pull out my phone and begin to look for recent news articles on the subject. "The DA _resigned_?"

Wolfard looks up at the screen as he racks the last of the weights. "Jeez, Tarquin Vash? What the hell? Think this has anything to do with the task force?"

"What, like he's dirty or something?" Clawhauser says. "I... he always seemed so nice. I can't believe he'd have anything to do with Blue."

Every article on Zoogle is just a short one-paragraph snippet about the affair. His office hasn't released any details yet, and every political wonk on Chitter is frantic and confused. Everyone, pred and prey alike, respects the guy. They trust him.

Something's seriously wrong. My mind's racing to draw a pattern. Could it be something Bellwether set up? No... ever since she got back from the hospital she's been kept in a high-security cell for her own protection. Was it someone on the inside who needed to muck up the investigation into the Blue epidemic? Some speciesist who didn't like the shape of Vash's teeth? Or hell, could the ZIA itself have orchestrated this as some bit of intrigue? I mean sure it was pretty cool that they were setting up a task force, but I'm a realist. I wouldn't put it past them to set up an inside job for their own purposes.

I'm eager for Nick and Judy to come back soon. We'll need all paws on board for what's to come.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

I gaze out the window, watching as the clouds pass by. It's always kind of surreal to look out and think about the winds driving the mists below, or the waves rippling over the ocean far beneath us. The air is so still in the compartment of a private jet. It's like a reverse terrarium... with us observers trapped in a self-contained capsule, while on the outside nature is whipping away with its untamed fury.

My laptop's open in front of me. I'm supposed to be sifting through the lists of candidates that Bogo and his Deputy Chiefs had sent me, but in all honesty I've just been playing games of solitaire for the past half-hour. The only criteria we've given them for candidates were loyalty, trustwoththiness, and the ability to keep their muzzles shut. Them and their partners, that is. Separating officers tends to breed some level of resentment, which will definitely affect their performance. It's best to keep partners together if possible.

With well over three hundred candidates to sift through though I'm beginning to wish I'd never accepted this job. But with the rumors we've been picking up and the looming threat that's liable to shake Zootopia to its core, Margot needs her best agents on this one. Cracks had formed in the foundations of the City thanks to the Night Howler epidemic, and those crevices were the perfect places for serpents to lay their eggs.

Sitting on the armrest of my chair Skye is chewing gum and trying to work through the earache due to the pressure difference. I smile at her over my glass. It's my go-to drink when I'm flying: gin and tonic, with a twist of lime. Clean and refreshing, and it helps with the nausea.

"You really should've gotten Adrienne to make you a pair," I say, tapping the side of my head to indicate the bud earpieces planted deep within. Not your normal earplugs, Adrienne had engineered them to filter out and diminish noises over ninety decibels. Pretty crucial when you're a bunny and exposed to as much gunfire as I am. Pretty handy on flights, too.

"I did," Skye grumbles. "Problem is I made the mistake of saying it was a low priority. You know how she'll just keep tinkering with whatever new project she's got unless you've got a critical task for her."

"Maybe you should go to the sleeping compartment. Take one of the bunks, like Lenny."

Lenny always hated flying. The low pressure messes with his sense of smell, and that tends to hit him with the double combo of nausea and a headache. He always pops a couple sleeping pills and naps it out.

"You know how he snores," she says, tail flicking back and forth. "Besides, someone has to keep you on track."

She runs a finger along the inside of my ear.

A warm tingle runs down my spine at that, and I have to focus in order to keep my cool. We're not like that, though... not anymore. Skye just knows all my sensitive spots, and she loves to tease. I can feel her breath in my ears, almost feel the flick of her slim, wet tongue...

I clear my throat, loosen my tie just a hair just as a tall moose steps out of the restroom. The blush is burning at my cheeks. Skye's quite a clever little vixen... she knows the surest way to get me to refocus on my work is to embarrass me.

Miles Elkredge takes the seat across from me. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke. The guy never could go more than a couple hours without his cigs, and even on a long flight he needs to step into the can to get his fix. Opening up his laptop, Miles continues scrolling through the offier files.

"I'll let you two get back to work," says Skye, planting a small kiss on the top of my head. At the last moment I _do_ feel her tongue flick out with a playful lick. She told me once that she loved the taste of bunny.

Turning around, she heads over to the back. Maybe she'll try to get some sleep after all.

"I'll never understand why you let her do that," Miles grumbles.

"We're just friends."

"It's unprofessional."

Anyone who thinks I've got a stiff collar has obviously never met Miles.

We both continue to go through the ZPD records, doing our best to winnow down the list by another hundred or so. At this point we're selecting based on experience and competence, mostly investigative ability. Though combat experience would be pretty crucial as well.

"I just got a call from Margot," Miles says, leaning back into his seat. "Tarquin Vash has resigned from his post as District Attorney."

I mull over the development for a moment. "This isn't good."

"No shit. Turns out the new acting DA is working real quietly behind the scenes to secure the release of a couple dozen prisoners. Doing a decent job of hiding what she's doing from Bogo and Lionheart, too. Many of them are low-level offenders, though several were involved in Blue maulings. You know what this means."

"They're actually making their move. After twenty years, they're returning to the City."

I rest my chin in my paws, mind racing. "I'll need to confirm that I have authority to deploy the Razorbacks." Zootopia's elite SWAT team: they're intelligent, aggressive, and relentless hunters. We'll need every resource at our disposal. "I suppose Vash quit because he wouldn't release those prisoners himself?"

"An honest fox. Who knew?" Miles huffs.

"There's no such thing."

"Don't let Skye hear you say that."

I smile. "She's wily as hell, and she knows it."

Besides, with Skye the trickery is part of the fun.

Miles snorts. "Well, Margot is having Vash interrogated. Apparently he broke down the moment she put him in the chair, started begging for police protection. Turns out he was entertaining a vixen when Sebastian Dusk put a bullet through her head."

My paws tighten. I can feel my blood pressure rising.

"Poor bastard didn't know what to do," Miles continues, "just extended his hotel booking for a week while he tried to decide whether to report it to the cops or not. The guy kept the housekeeping staff away, so any forensic evidence in there should still be intact."

"We both know they wouldn't have left a trace," I say coldly. "Get the blueprints for ZPD Headquarters. Do your thing and make sure the ins and outs of the bulding are covered. Prepare for any possible threats. We can't have the Vulpes Sanguinis slip one of its assassins in to execute Vash." Miles may have a couple decades more experience than me, but I'm the one in charge of this team. What he lacks in social and leadership skills though he makes up for with his mind for tactics and strategy.

"What do you take me for? I started on that three days ago."

Of course he did.

The Vulpes Sanguinis has already made its first move. Was _he_ still in charge though? The one they called 'the Prince.' The old bastard must be pushing into his eighties by now, if he was still alive.

Going through Vash and trying to get him to do their bidding would've never worked. Despite my suspicions the guy genuinely seemed to be squeaky clean. There are easier ways to get those prisoners released than going after the Incorruptible Tarquin Vash. Or ways that wouldn't have drawn attention so readily. It could be the rookie move of new blood trying to take charge, or it could be a calculated risk by a more experienced paw. Maybe the octogenarian tod wanted the ZIA to _think_ it was someone new. Or they simply wanted to make their mark.

It's impossible to tell, especially if it really _was_ him working behind the scenes. Plan two steps ahead then take a third, that was his motto. He always has plots within plots, and not many could trace the labyrinthine corridors of his mind. The Vulpes Sanguinis have always known how to fan the flames of chaos so they could impose their own order in the ashes.

For a while the two of us work in silence. I'm mulling over the dozen threads that may be spinning off of this event, trying to pare things down to the most likely scenarios. There are so may permutations of possibilities that it's probably going to keep me up all night.

Just then, Elkredge lets out a chuckle. The guy rarely smiles, let alone laughs, and this breaks me out of my musings.

"What's so funny?"

"Scroll down to the profile for Judy Hopps."

Hopps? That's a bunny name isn't it? I'd heard about the rabbit who graduated first in her class. She was the one who'd solved that Night Howler case, wasn't she? Honestly, I've been so busy in Milan these past few months that I haven't been able to pay much attention to news back home. Hell, I haven't been back in Zootopia in a year.

I scroll past he files of wolves and tigers and rhinos and come to her profile. Speed and agility ratings, ninety-ninth percentile, naturally. Strength minimal, but problem-solving and determination scores are quite high. As for her firearms training... she's got some experience with the RGS-14. Huh. The model had originally been designed for me once I joined the ZIA.

Gray fur, violet eyes, and a chipper smile. The doe looks like she's fresh off the farm, still innocently naive of how ugly this line of work can get. Yet as I read through her service history my eyes widen. She was involved in pacifying the suspects at the Lone Digger Massacre? Impressive.

It's when I get to the list of her partners and associates that I'm well and truly stunned.

Benjy Kaplan, though his family had changed their name from the native Tigrian 'Kappalan' when they immigrated. Strong, dependable, and very quiet. All excellent traits for a candidate.

And then there's Nick Wilde, staring at me from my laptop monitor with his lazy little grin. I stare back.

Knowing Miles, he was simply amused by the existence of another bunny-fox duo in the ZPD. My relationship with Skye was always A Thing with him. But Miles doesn't know foxes like I do, and this particular tod catches my interest.

Well, Mr. Wilde. Hello there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 3 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Okay for realsies, originally my policy was to publish at the rate of one chapter per week, because I want to maintain a good backlog of chapters to ensure that I'm getting regular updates in. Problem with this is that I am writing much, MUCH faster than I ever thought possible (upwards of 3,000 to 5,000 words per day). I just finished writing another chapter and that's going on the backlog file, so I decided to pop this from the stack early. So again, while I don't INTEND to put out updates so frequently, my writing is getting so fast that I felt it was all right in this instance. PLEASE don't be disappointed if you really do have to wait a week for the next one though.
> 
> Just a note about Jack Savage's team of paw-picked ZIA agents:
> 
> Miles Elkredge: Moose. Tactics, planning, and security.  
> Skye: Fox. Stealth, infiltration, observation. Also a trained sniper.  
> Lenny Packard: Wolf. Forensics expert due to his incredibly sensitive nose.  
> Adrienne Mustela: Stoat. Electronics expert, hacker, and engineer. Her tiny paws make it easier for her to tinker with small parts.


	4. Obligatory Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ZPD officers are going through a quick evaluation by the ZIA to select officers for the anti-Blue task force. In the meantime, a familiar face undergoes initiation.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Turns out it was a good decision to head back to Zootopia three days early. We needed the extra time back at the precinct to work up our momentum again. It's surprising how much can pile up and change in just a few days.

But it's not like me and Judy were slacking off entirely. Back in Bunnyburrow the two of us had five-mile runs in the mornings and evenings, and in the afternoons we went to a remote part of the woods to practice our target shooting. Bunnies, unsurprisingly, weren't ones for firearms, though Stu did keep an old rifle over the mantle, just in case.

Firearms training had been in part an excuse to get away though. Far from any possible intrusions and deep in the woods, me and Judy made good use of our alone time. There's something extra thrilling about doing it in the woods, you know. Part of me was left wondering if our ancestors ever did the same, back in the day when the thought of a bunny and a fox getting it on was even harder to accept than it is now.

Plus with our fitness regimen being public knowledge no one asked any questions, even when we came back to the Burrows with our cheeks flushed and our fur mussed.

With the new security measures in place getting in or out of the precinct is becoming a huge pain in the tail. The lobby and the front desk are accessible to the public: mammals need to be able to deal with fix-it tickets and the like after all. The elevators and offices and conference rooms are blocked off by rope barriers though. Anyone who needs to get into the ZPD proper will have to go through a full security sweep: full-body scans, metal detectors, wolf agents that'll sniff you for anything suspicious. Any packs you carry would have to be X-rayed too. Encircling the lobby are half a dozen ZIA agents in their solid black suits and dark sunglasses. They peer at every mammal that passes by.

We're all standing at attention, every officer in the Savanna Central precinct not out on patrol. There are officers from the other district's branches too, ones I don't recognize. Multiple lines of cops flank the double-doors. The civilians have been cleared out, and as the black vans pull up we all stand a little straighter.

At first I didn't believe the rumors floating around the precinct that Jack Savage was a bunny rabbit, but as the agents step out I notice that the larger ones are carefully forming a semicircle without making it look as if they're doing so intentionally. In the middle of the cluster are a group of smaller mammals almost completely hidden from view: a stoat, a fox, and yes, even a bunny, though I really have to lean in and squint to notice.

You would've thought that after dealing with the pat-downs and inspections for the past few days the ZIA wouldn't make an impression like this, but the group steps in with a crisp, even, almost metronomic pace. Sure the smaller agents need to move a bit faster to keep up with the larger ones, but it's like seeing the smaller gears turning faster and driving the larger ones in an old pocketwatch. They're crisp, clean... professional.

We straighten up and stand with our chests puffed out, and salute as they pass down the line. Now that they're out of the open they've broken up a little bit, with the bunny agent striding to the front while the other agents trail behind. In their wake though some of the officers are leaning in, some swooning at the sight of of the famous Jack Savage.

He's got an interesting coat pattern, with bands of gray fur cutting through the white. And he certainly stands out, not just because he's a bunny among the larger mammals. After spending a few days _surrounded_ by bunnies I've gotten a better feel for their cutesy, bouncy mannerisms.

There isn't an ounce of that in the bunny agent.

He doesn't slow his pace a hair when he walks past me and Judy, but I do notice past the edge of his black shades that he glances in our direction, just for a brief moment. Blinking, I look down at Judy to see her beaming, eyes filled with wonder. I can almost see the sparkles blooming around her as she stares at Agent Savage.

What.

The.

Hell.

Okay, I'm with Chief Buffalo-Butt now. Having these guys work with us is a mistake.

Once they reach the front desk they turn around. Savage steps forward, paws folded behind his back, and in a clear voice that carries despite his size, he speaks.

"At ease."

We all lower our paws and relax, shuffling a bit. Savage removes his sunglasses, and looks out at us. Even among bunnies he's cute as a button, with that round face that you just wanna grip like an apple, that pink snub nose, those wide eyes and dewy sky-blue pupils. And, of course, that exotic coat pattern.

I hate him already.

"It seems Chief Bogo and his Deputy Chiefs have made my job quite difficult," he begins. "There's no shortage of fine officers here in Zootopia. Some of the best I've seen. Limiting the first-pass screening to three hundred candidates on their part was no easy task, I'm sure. For those of you who haven't made the cut, know that this in no way speaks to your abilities. I would take all of you if I could, and having to limit ourselves to fifty officers is a logistical limitation on our part, not a flaw on yours."

He takes a few steps forward, looking at the lines of ZPD officers on his left, then on his right.

"Each one of you standing here, and each officer on the streets right now, are the best of the best. But those I select for my task force I will rebuild to be even better. I thank you for welcoming the ZIA and allowing us to work in your department. Let us all unite to break the back of this drug epidemic once and for all."

The room breaks out in open applause. A few sharp whistles rise up from the crowd. But while everyone's eyes are on Jack I notice Chief Bogo standing at the end of the line, his mouth twisted into a cold sneer.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

It's so _great_ being back at the academy.

I mean okay I had some rough patches here, especially in the beginning. Definitely wasn't fun when I got my ear caught in a car door that one time. But once I got past all the awful fails on the obstacle courses I _really_ got into the rhythm of things.

The students here have gotta be relieved that they get the next few days off, even if they're spending it cooped up in the dorms. The ZIA can't have them spotting the agents, after all.

Even though officers like McHorn or Katzen have longer legs and can get up to greater speeds when they're on a long run, I put my natural agility to use. I zip through the tires, scamper under the net, and once I get to the massive concrete wall I dig straight under it. Us bunnies are great at that, and it takes me just five seconds to get past that obstacle compared to the mammals who have to try climbing over.

Hey, it's not cheating! I'm just putting my natural talents to use!

Still, I'm pretty surprised to get to the finish line with no one else there. I mean okay I've gotten way faster, especially after chasing a few perps through alleys while working the beat, but sometimes Nick's able to circle around and snag them on the other end in a pincer move since he knows all the shortcuts in the area. Besides, we have more than a few cheetahs in the group, and they're the fastest on the force.

Agent Savage is waiting by a big plastic ice bucket. I bounce up to it, grab a bottled water, and down half of it in one gulp before pouring the rest over my head, panting. A sharp chill slices away the heat and the muscle soreness.

"Very impressive, Officer Hopps."

I look up at Agent Savage, and he's smiling down at me with his clipboard in paw, scribbling away. He isn't even paying attention to the monitors displaying the whole course and all the other mammals scrambling to get through it. Gosh it's so _amazing_ to see another bunny's face, with a nice round muzzle and big dewy eyes. _Especially_ a bunny agent, of all things. I'd heard all the rumors, but I couldn't really believe them until he stood up and gave that quick speech at the precinct.

There's just something about him that's so... _cool_.

I know I sound like some high school kit when I say that, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that there's this aura about him that makes me wish I were in something nicer than a mud-stained track outfit. Especially when he's in that slick black suit and tie, his sunglasses tucked in his jacket pocket. I've never known any bunny to make the kind of eye contact he's giving me, and I can feel my heart skipping a beat. My whole body feels warm, and it isn't just from the run.

Before I can embarrass myself though Officer Katzen arrives at the finish line, scooping up a pawful of ice and rubbing it into his face and chest. Turning around, we look back at the officers that're arriving. Jack's gone back to scribbling notes as he looks at the monitors and checking off each officer in order of arrival.

Finally, after a good long while Nick finishes, lagging right behind Higgins. He's panting, coated in mud from the tips of his ears down to his tail, and as he crosses the finish line he collapses and has to crawl towards the ice bucket. It's half-melted by now.

I lay a paw over my face and try not to groan.

 

~~~~~

 

"Suicide," I conclude.

Wolfowitz and McHorn nod along. We'd been given only five minutes to examine the crime scene setup, though we weren't allowed to touch anything. Wolfowitz had sniffed around the table, McHorn had checked the body and the blood spray pattern, and I'd gone over the wording of the suicide note. Nick though had just wandered around the room glancing at all the furniture and perusing the magazine covers on the coffee table, all while Agent Elkredge stood in the corner taking notes.

"Oh? Why's that?" Nick says casually. Something's going through his head, and I'm starting to second-guess myself. No... stick to your instincts. Nick's just standing there looking smug, trying to screw with us.

"It's all consistent," says Wolfowitz. "Cigarette butt in the tray, smells like it's about twelve hours old. So does the cognac residue in the glass. Smelled the same stuff around her muzzle."

Agent Skye had been kind enough to play the role of a corpse for this. She did a pretty convincing job by staying perfectly still too. Really though, it can't be _this_ easy. But then again the ZIA might be trying to trick us by making us second-guess ourselves. The only details we were given about this case were that neighbors had heard a bang at eleven at night the next house over, but they'd assumed it was a car backfiring.

"A little trouble with that scenario though," says Nick. "The blood spray pattern was on the floor and wall to the right of the seat, along with the bullet hole. She was right-pawed, wasn't she?"

"From the writing, yeah," I say, remembering the way the text on the suicide note was slanted. "And that was the same paw that held the gun."

"So when you're facing the table like she was once she finished writing, she was shot from the left side wasn't she?"

"Nice try, Wilde!" McHorn snorts, "She was shot through her right temple judging from the powder burns on the side of her head. All she had to do was turn around."

"And why would she have turned around?" Nick continues.

"Easy! You didn't notice the portrait on the other wall? Big framed wedding photo. She must've stood up and turned around to look at it when she shot herself. Probably wanted to remember the good times before she gave herself a nine-mill caliber lobotomy."

"Yeah, the bullet trajectory is just a red herring, just a little detail to throw us off," nods Wolfowitz. "So it's suicide."

"Suicide," McHorn agrees.

I nod along. "Suicide."

"Right..." Nick tilts his head, and the tiniest little smirk twitches at the corners of his mouth. "So why was the table lamp unplugged?"

The rest of us blink and stare at him.

"What?" I ask.

"When we first entered we had to flick on the light switch next to the door," says Nick, "What? You think we came to an unlit crime scene for dramatic effect? She was shot at eleven at night, so presumably she had a light on to write the suicide note. A fox's night vision is good, but it isn't _that_ good. Problem is the table lamp's been unplugged from the closest outlet, so she could stick her phone charger in."

The three of us blink and gawk at him. None of us had noticed.

He begins to pace a circle around us, the way Nick does when he's coming up with a hustle. "So here's the scenario: vixen is home, ceiling light is on because she's reading a book or watching TV or whatever. Perp slips in and holds a gun to her head. Makes her sit down at the table in the corner to smoke a cig, have a drink, write the note, all the things you do when you're about to off yourself. Makes her stand and turn around before he shoots her, because y'know, he thought of the whole exit wound and right-pawed thing too. Anyone would if they watched enough detective shows.

"So he wipes the gun, puts it in her paw, and leaves. Out of habit he flicks off the light switch next to the door. Maybe he second guesses himself and looks back, but realizes that doesn't matter because there's a lamp on the table, right? It was off at that point, but perp thinks the cops'll assume she turned it off once she finished writing and she offed herself in the dark. Plus he needs to make a clean exit real quick, and our guy didn't notice that it was unplugged."

He turns to face us then, and now he's smiling outright. "You guys made the mistake of looking at all the direct forensic evidence. Blood patterns, bullet holes, right paw versus left paw, the glass and the cigarette, all that jazz. Thing is, a murderer who's trying to hide what he was doing would focus on rigging the exact same stuff when he's setting up a suicide scene. The things he's gonna miss are gonna be the bits of scenery no one normally pays attention to. So I say: murder."

Sometimes when he makes that lazy grin I want to kiss him. Right now though I just want to slap him across his big smug muzzle.

"Full points go to Wilde," says Elkredge, puffing on a cigarette. "Hopefully you three lunkheads will learn something from this for the next four simulations."

 

~~~~~

 

_Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_

I've been getting more used to live ammunition, though firing it still jolts my paws pretty badly. A tranq dart doesn't need much force to pierce the hide of most mammals, but a bullet needs way more behind it to provide real stopping power. After all, it may need to go through a skull or several thick inches of flesh to hit something vital. I try to push that out of my mind though, because otherwise I might just shudder and that'll make my aim even worse.

When I press the target retraction switch it wheels back toward me. Long ago I'd suggested to Bogo that we get more variety in our shot targets, rather than just having a few types involving predator species. This one happened to be a buffalo, ironically enough.

I smile. Eight shots total, with a pretty decent grouping. Two right in the center, three scattered around the torso area, and one had missed the neck while the other two a bit further off. Not the best performance, but not bad for me at least.

Agent Savage walks toward me, and when I see him I engage the safety on my firearm even though I know the clip is empty. It's good to be safe, after all. I blink when I realize the only protective gear he's wearing is a pair of goggles. Bunnies don't often go to gun ranges, mostly because the recoil for most guns using live ammo would send us flying backward with each shot. When we do though we have to take special precautions to protect our hearing.

He seems to notice my confusion. "Sound-dampening earbuds," he taps the side of his head and speaks loud enough for me to hear him through my thick earplugs. "They filter out anything louder than ninety decibels. I wear them the whole day, especially on missions. Can't plug your ears when you suddenly find yourself in a sudden firefight after all. Why don't you come with me for a sec?"

I nod as he leads me off. We head off to the soundproofed overseer area behind the range. I take out my earplugs.

"So," he says in a normal tone now. "I'll see if I can requisition a pair of these earbuds for you."

I blink. "Isn't that some sorta classified ZIA tech though?"

"Well they're ZIA, yeah. Agent Mustela invented 'em., but it's not classified or anything. I just need to run it by Director Seraphine first. I'm sure she'll approve."

"Wow... thanks, Agent Savage!"

"Call me Jack. We're the only two bunnies in this gig after all," he says with a smile. I blush.

Leaning in close he reaches into his holster and withdraws his sidearm. There was a time when I would've flinched at anyone doing that, and I still kind of twitch now. I hadn't really grown up around firearms, especially ones using live ammo. I'm much more comfortable with tranqs.

"Here's mine," he says, holding it out for me.

The safety's on, but I still handle it delicately, like a live snake. The construction is the same: the RGS-14, Rabbit-Grade Semiautomatic. Specifically designed for Jack Savage, only twenty had been manufactured so far. It's loaded with narrow, low-caliber custom shells, but the alloy and tip design had been optimized so they could pierce even a rhino's hide.

The thought that this whole time I've been connected to Jack through our sidearms leaves me feeling a little giddy.

There's something so... _intimate_ about touching Jack's gun right now. Mine feels so much more like a single, compact clump of metal. Jack's though... it's been well-maintained, but there are patches where the finish is a little worn. There's something about it that feels more mature too, like it's seen a lot more action in the field, broken in like an old pair of gloves.

"I'd be happy to give you some tips, Judy," says Jack. "As the first rabbit to join the ZIA, I've had to learn a lot over the years. Especially when it comes to fine-tuning firearms training to suit someone of our size."

"I... I'd like that!" I squeak. "I mean, when you have time that is. I'm sure you need to evaluate the officers here first."

"Gun range accuracy is more a formality really. There are more important things to evaluate," he says casually. "Here..."

He feels along my forearms, kneading gently into my muscles. Jack isn't wearing his jacket, and he's rolled his sleeves up a bit. His arms are thicker than mine, and it isn't just because I'm a female. He's put in quite some time at the gym. The way he's examining me is perfectly clinical, but I can't help but blush when I feel his paws kneading away.

"You'll definitely want to improve your arm strength to stabilize and handle the recoil. Dumbbell curls, reverse curls, pullups and rows and wrist curls. It'll all help significantly. You'll also wanna try mixing some dummy rounds into your ammo when you're on the range. That way when you pull the trigger you won't know if you're firing a real bullet or not. When it's a dummy you'll better recognize the flinch you're making when you're trying to compensate. Work to minimize that."

"That's really good advice..." Despite my initial discomfort with the firearm, I'm suddenly getting excited. I'll have to get some dummy rounds then... I almost feel like bouncing, I'm so eager to give it a try now.

"Also, here," Jack turns me around and wraps his arms around me from behind. My back presses against his chest, and I feel his chin on my shoulder. He guides my paws to hold the gun out like I would on the range.

"W-wait! This thing is loaded, isn't it?"

It's a basic rule to always be careful with a gun. Even if the safety is on. Even if you know there aren't any bullets in the chamber or the magazine. And now Jack's having me point it towards the far wall as if I'm just about to fire. My heart's racing.

"Yep," he says simply, reaching out to place his paw over mine. "You're trembling, Judy."

"Um... what's..."

"Keep still. I'm just trying to help you to get a better feel for the trigger. No, don't be afraid. Heston is dangerous, but so long as you respect him you'll be fine."

"You named your gun 'Heston?'" I turn my head a bit to glance at Jack.

"Every guy names their piece," Jack says with a wink. I blush.

Wait... he couldn't... he isn't... with _me_?!

I begin to wonder if I should end this right now when I feel his finger on mine over the trigger. Slowly, gently, he begins to pull.

"See, the thing is right now you haven't gotten a feel for the mechanism yet. You don't quite know how far you have to pull, or when it's gonna fire."

The trigger reaches a faint stop, and I gasp when Jack continues to apply pressure. It falls back with an empty _click_.

"There. See? Did you feel that?"

"I... I felt it, yeah."

"Good," he pulls away then, though the warmth of his body still clings to my back where he'd made contact. Jack plants his paws on my shoulders. "Just keep doing that, get used to the feel of it. As much as sixty percent of missed shots are due to improper trigger control, and each gun is a hair different, even when they're the same model. I've been using Heston here for two years now, and when I first switched out to him I spent about a week retraining to get used to the new feel."

He steps back a bit. A wave of relief washes over me. Okay, maybe I was just imagining things. I mean, the secret agent types are all supposed to always be really suave, right? It doesn't mean anything. Still, I can't help it if my heart is racing and I'm feeling a bit flushed, and well... certain _instincts_ have been stirred up in me.

"Now..." Jack says, straightening his shirt, "I notice you're partnered with Nick Wilde. Why don't you tell me about him?"

Suddenly I notice something out of the corner of my eye. Looking out through the thick plexiglass I see Nick down there at the range, holding up a paper target and staring up at us. His eyes are smoldering, and his mouth is clenched tight. He's usually so good about hiding his feelings, but right now I can see him quivering.

When he turns around and hangs up the target I notice he's gotten one with the silhouette of a male bunny. Pressing the switch it wheels back fifteen yards.

I quickly give Jack his gun and scramble downstairs, putting my earplugs in. Just as I reach the range Nick holds his firearm with both paws, and fires all eight shots in rapid succession.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Jack's arrived just as Nick finishes and slams his paw on the retraction button. The target wheels back, and I notice with shock that all eight bullets had pierced the target's head right between the ears, clustered in a tight grouping.

"Very impressive," says Jack, standing up and enunciating crisply so we can hear him through our earplugs. "Tell me, Mr. Wilde, who taught you how to shoot? I recall from your training records that your aim wasn't nearly this good."

"I practiced on my own. Got a whole lot better when I got some special contacts and trained away my noctocular reflex." He's smoothed his features once more, slid back into his slick, laid-back persona. It's almost sleazy, the way he's being so friendly now. If it weren't for his expression just a minute ago I wouldn't know that he's quashing a jealous rage towards Jack Savage.

"Interesting," says Jack. "Not many mammals know about that."

"Doctor Therona told me about it."

"Ah. The ZPD's forensic pathologist? Well..." Jack smiles, and nudges aside the antelope who was about to take the next booth. "I'm certainly not the marksman you are, but I can still manage fairly well."

Whipping out Heston, Jack flicks his arm out towards the target. The fur around his eyes tightens as he focuses, and faster than anyone I've ever seen, he fires.

_Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_

When the sheet wheels back I notice that it's a silhouette of a fox. Jack had fired all shots with just one paw. And while the grouping isn't as tight as Nick's, all of the bullet holes are centered around the target's crotch.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

Oh God, how did I wind up here?

We stand straight at attention, lined up with our paws behind our backs. It reminds me of the Judo classes I used to take back when I was a cub, standing single file with chests puffed out while the sensei walks up and down the line. Back then though we were just kittens before a full-grown tiger. Now though we're the big cats lined up as a small red fox in a business suit inspects us. Ten other foxes stand around the perimeter of the room, all in crisp three-piece suits of black or brown or blue.

The guy's only four feet tall, but there's something about him that makes me feel like a kitten again. Maybe it's his hard eyes boring into us. Or the crisp stride he has, swift and determined. The way he moves is so practiced, and everything about him seems clean and efficient. Any one of us could probably twist him in half with just one paw, but for some reason I'm pretty certain even just the _thought_ of trying would mean a lot of pain on our end.

" _It's not my fault!_ " I'd pleaded with the cops as I sobbed into my paws. The wounds had only just been stitched shut, and when my tears trickled along those gashes the salt stung my raw flesh. " _Please..._ _ **please**_ _I didn't mean for any of this to happen! It was the Blue, man! I didn't mean it!_ "

But the fact was, writing off the Lone Digger Massacre as being a drug-fueled frenzy and trying to plead my innocence was a mistake. There was a pecking order in the prison, and those who didn't carve out a reputation for being tough plummeted to the bottom pretty damn quick. Oliver and Caleb had always been better at managing that than me. But now Cal was dead, his face torn off by one of the wolves in the club, while Oliver had distanced himself from me and my whimpering to try and maintain some level of respect from the inmates.

The prison guards at Highwatch did their best to keep us safe. A pair of teenage cats, especially one who slid to the bottom rung on the first day, were at high risk of being abused. There was a gang of rhinos that resented us chompers, and in the yard I'd see them whispering and glancing in my direction. A cheetah had approached me, offering me protection if I'd swear fealty to an old lion they called the King of the Jungle. There was nothing vague as to what he meant by "fealty."

I'd tried to get closer to the guards, get them to help me, but a wolf later warned me against doing just that. I was acting like a kitten hiding behind mommy's skirts, and in this schoolyard every mammal was a bully. That sorta behavior was just me asking to get my ass stomped.

So when whispers reached me of a chance to get out, I was desperate to take it. All I needed to do was prove my loyalty and deal with a certain sheep. It was weird, how deep the wool went, and how much blood there was, even with all that fluff to soak it up.

Now that I'm out of that beast den though, I'm beginning to wonder what I'd gotten myself into.

"Welcome," the fox says, placing his paws behind his back, "to the Vulpes Sanguinis. By the grace of the Prince, in exchange for your service you have all been given a second chance at life. Now is the time to forget old grudges. Now is the time to sever old loyalties and ties. Starting from this moment, your training begins. I am Jacob Cornelius Frisk, Master-at-Arms, though unless otherwise specified you will address me and every male fox you see here as 'Praetor _._ ' Is that understood?"

A chorus of uncertain mumbles resounds up and down the line. Oliver stands next to me, and he shoots me a nervous glance. His face had also been heavily scarred from the Lone Digger, but beneath his roughed-up features there's still the high school running back from the field. He's just as out of his element as I am, and I suspect the rest of the guys in this lineup are too.

"Fuck you, fox."

Everyone looks down towards the end of the line at the lion who'd just spoken. He stands eight feet tall, easily. And while the rest of us look to be in our late teens or early twenties, Carlos there looks to be ten years older than any of us. He's the resident asshole too, demanding respect from us younguns and giving no shits for anyone else in return.

Jacob is already unbuttoning his shirt. There's no emotion on his face, no reaction to Carlos' outburst.

"You object to the price of your freedom?" Jacob asks. He folds up his jacket and passes it to one of the foxes lining the wall. Beneath his jacket he wears one of those utility belts, like the ones cops have.

"I _object_ to taking orders from a fucking fox," Carlos growls. "I didn't spend eight years in prison to be led around by a fucking trash mammal once I got out."

Jacob undoes the buttons at his cuffs, and he begins to roll up his sleeves. "Most of you have been selected based on the nature of your cases, for circumstances that made it easier to get your sentences vacated. Your psychological profiles have been screened, and we know that you will be compliant. With one exception."

Jacob folds his paws behind his back. "Carlos here was chosen specifically to be an example."

"What the fuck?!" the lion growls.

"Go ahead. If you can get past me, then you're free to leave this compound. Or perhaps I should call you a 'pussy' for another reason entirely?"

In prison, respect is everything. A mammal's place in the pecking order can change drastically if insults go unanswered, and Carlos has been on the inside long enough that he doesn't see the bait for what it is.

Carlos snarls, and charges.

Quick as the crack of a whip, Jacob darts to one side. He rolls along the ground, and when he hops back onto his feet he's whipped out two iron spheres from somewhere on his person. Relaxing his fingers, the two balls drop about a foot each, before the thin chains that hold them snap taut. With a loop of chain in each paw, Jacob begins twirling the two spheres.

"The fighting style of a Sanguinis Praetor makes use of a fox's cunning and agility," he explains smoothly, like a teacher giving a lecture. "We improvise. We use hidden tools and weapons. And we study the psychology of the species we must fight. A cat for example is quite single-minded. Having to deal with more than one target splits his focus. He has great difficulty attacking and defending at the same time."

And indeed, Carlos's eyes flick between Jacob and the two twirling metal spheres. Even standing ten feet away from the fox I feel a little hypnotized by the two orbs spinning on their chains.

When Carlos leaps in to slash at his foe the fox darts aside once again, but this time one of the balls cracks him in the side of the head. It can't be more than a pound in weight, and it'd leave a nasty bruise, but for a cat as big as Carlos it probably wouldn't even chip his skull.

Still, something about this whole fight terrifies me.

"These meteor hammers are the best weapon to use against Carlos here, but in a pinch something as as simple as a chair will do. The four legs of a stool would confuse him, while another weapon in my other paw would serve to tame this lion quite effectively."

Another lunge, another crack in the side of Carlos' head. He throws up one paw to his skull as he stumbles, snarling with rage. How can Jacob sound so calm while he's doing this? It doesn't even seem like he's breathing heavily.

"You may think you're larger than a fox. Stronger, even. But a Praetor will know all your weaknesses, and he will use them against you."

This time Carlos turns around, and when he does, staring daggers at Jacob, the two metal spheres swing in from either side. One cracks against his muzzle, while the other lands another blow on the side of his head.

This time as the blood trickles down Carlos' broken nose, he doubles over and vomits noisily on the floor.

"For example, as big as Carlos is here, he has a vestibular apparatus that is just as vulnerable as anyone else's. Sufficient damage to this organ in the inner ear has thrown his sense of balance out of whack, and right now he's experiencing a sense of extreme vertigo."

My eyes widen in horror. This tiny little fox, probably ninety pounds soaking wet, tops, has just subdued a four hundred pound lion without breaking a sweat. And with just a pair of metal balls on chains.

Carlos is moaning, slumped on all fours and swaying back and forth, like he can't tell up from down. He begins to gag, like he's about to puke again.

Jacob reaches into his pocket, and with a flick of a spring-loaded mechanism a six-inch long blade is gleaming in his paw.

"W-wait... please..." Carlos croaks.

I'm not the only one to cry out in horror, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's turned away from the sight as Carlos screams.

When I manage to look again the lion lies dying at Jacob's feet, spasming in a spreading pool of blood. Jacob's cleaning his paws with a pawkerchief.

"Now. Are there any other objections to your new positions serving our Prince?"

All of us only shuffle back and forth silently. Glancing down the line I notice I'm not the only one who looks like he feels the need to stain the floor with his breakfast.

"Well?"

"No..." comes the chorus of nervous replies.

"No what?"

"No, Praetor," we all say in scattered unison.

"Very good," says Jacob. He looks up at us with that flat, golden stare. Jacob turns to take in all of us, making sure each mammal standing before him knows that if a single toe is put out of line, Jacob would give us another anatomy lesson in that same frosty voice.

When he finally seems satisfied that there isn't an ounce of resistance, Jacob folds his paws behind his back and straightens up as he intones:

" _Deus vulp_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 4 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I love all the different versions of Jack Savage, from tgweaver's hilarious bumbling goofball, to Mead's calm-but-passionate secret agent version, to Rem289's cool, suave, and rigidly professional Jack who unfortunately doesn't seem to know how smexy he is. Mine is kind of a hybrid of Mead and Rem's versions, though you'll be seeing more backstory of my personal take after.
> 
> Milo here is going to be a bit of a secondary POV character along the lines of Benjy. Hope you guys like him. His name means "grey" in Brazilian Portuguese, though this is less a reference to his fur color and more because I felt really uncomfortable giving him the last name "Negro" to indicate that he's a black panther. Also it can mean "melancholic," which suits his mood given his situation.
> 
> Also fun note: The Vulpes Sanguinis' design as an organization partially descends from the fact that one day I was mulling things over and thought of "Deus Vulp." For those who don't know, it's a pun based on the old Latin phrase, "Deus Vult," which means "God Wills It."
> 
> ALSO: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK I've been an idiot. I post chapters on Pastebin for my beta readers, and have accidentally listed them as for public viewing, so random strangers have been glancing at this story 8 chapters ahead. D:
> 
> Oh well luckily I've been putting them on a 24 hour expiration.
> 
> As always, please like and comment. I'll actually be posting chapter 5 very soon as well so expect it up in a few hours.


	5. Tiger Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Second update for today in quick succession, make sure you didn't miss chapter 4)
> 
> Nick and Judy talk things out, while Jack goes home early.
> 
> (WARNING: ADULT SITUATIONS AHEAD)

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“Do you _really_ have to keep antagonizing him?”

“Jeez Carrots, I didn't think you'd be so...”

“Don't say it!”

We stare at each other for a moment. I'm trying to contain myself, but I can't help it. I can only be me after all, and my muzzle curves into a sly grin.

“...Hopping mad.”

Judy makes a harsh, growling sound, something I didn't expect a bunny to be able to make. And trust me, between the sheets I've been able to discover quite a few noises I didn't know a bunny was capable of making.

As usual me and Judy are heading to the precinct together, my morning coffee in one paw and the half-eaten blueberry danish I'm working on in the other. She licks a trace of carrot-ginger smoothie from her muzzle. Some of those bunny mannerisms must've rubbed off on me after our four days in Bunnyburrow, because when I look at her now I get this overwhelming urge to cuddle her against me, even with her all tense and frustrated.

Actually, no. _Especially_ when she's all tense and frustrated. The thought of the squrimy love-hate struggle in that potential embrace just makes it much more appealing.

“He was just helping me with my firearm training, Nick,” Judy insists. “You know how much trouble I have using live ammo!”

“I could've helped you with that,” I grumble. There are perfectly legit reasons for me to be jealous, especially after seeing Jack Fucking Savage snuggled up to Judy with his paws around her, like I didn't understand what chinning was. I've Zoogled plenty of bunny stuff long before our first kiss. I know things.

“No you couldn't,” Judy sighed. “Our anatomies are totally different, and Jack knows way more about how a bunny should handle a firearm. He was just being friendly!”

“Carrots, I don't know if you realize this, but when a guy is 'being friendly' it doesn't mean what you think it means.”

“Okay maybe he was a _little_ flirty, but he hasn't spoken to me since then!”

“HA! A _little_ flirty?!” I'm actually letting my annoyance show now. It's so hard to keep cool around Judy. “Stripey McFluffbutt was all over you! And did you forget he decided to _castrate_ me via effigy?”

“Honestly? That seemed like fair play when you decided to _kill_ his effigy. _Eight_ headshots?!”

“Why yes. Yes I _am_ the best shot on the force, thank you.”

I feel a sharp little fist smack into my shoulder, and I wince. Jeez! With Judy's tiny paws all that force concentrates in one little area. That's gonna leave a nasty bruise.

“Ow.”

“Nick, did you forget that I promised I'd adopt a fox kit with you if it ever came to that? _You're_ the only one I want in my life! I'm _not interested_ in Agent Savage! And he isn't interested in me! Haven't you seen how he and Agent Skye look at each other?”

I did notice of course, but frankly that's been cold comfort. Bunnies are promiscuous little twerps after all, and in the movies the secret agent types get a regular helping of snizz. It's a dangerous combination, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had a string of kits being raised by single mothers from here to Tigria.

But... Judy isn't promiscuous, is she? She's been strictly monogamous with me this whole time, and I haven't even seen her so much as glance at another rabbit buck since we started dating. Plus bunnies are just naturally cuddly with each other, aren't they? So maybe from a rabbit point of view Jack really _was_ just trying to be friendly.

There are plenty of reasons to explain the whole encounter, and while I don't like any of them the whole aggregate makes for a convincing enough case to trust Judy on this at least. If anything this is all on Agent Stripes. Judy just isn't that kind of bunny.

Okay, I'm starting to feel a little ashamed. It's _not_ a feeling I'm used to.

“...Sorry.”

The annoyance on Judy's face gives way to surprise when I apologize. I finally relax, taking another bite out of my danish. Suddenly I feel two tiny arms wrap around my middle, and look down to see Judy snuggling me nice and tight.

“Dumb fox...” she says with a smile. “Just be on your best behavior, okay? If you keep trying to get a rise out of him he won't let you join the task force. We might get separated.”

By the time we get to the station we're walking with a respectful distance from one another, not even exchanging another glance. We can't, after all, afford to look too intimate. Not if we wanna appear professional in front of the ZIA. Oh well. Our work shift ends in eight hours, and anticipation is the sharpest spice. Especially when it comes to makeup sex.

When we pass through the double doors though I know something's wrong.

All the boxes of sugary cereals and donuts are back on Clawhauser's desk. Judy had brought back several boxes of Carroty Yum-Yums ( _seriously_? “Carroty Yum-Yums?”) just for him, but that was before we learned he was on a diet and fitness regimen. He'd promised to pass them around the precinct, but now a couple boxes of Maple Sugar Yum-Yums is sitting on the desk as well. He's got his head propped up on one paw, and he's eating a jam-filled donut more slowly than I've ever seen him eat anything. I've never seen the guy so down.

Judy's the first to pipe up.

“Clawhauser? What's wrong?”

“I didn't make the task force. Heck, I didn't even make it to the first-pass selection list,” he sighs, staring at his half-eaten donut. A big glob of red jam drips from the middle and plops onto the desk surface. He doesn't even have the energy to lick it up.

I'm not sure what the poor guy was expecting. He's probably the friendliest officer on he force, right behind Judy of course, but let's be realistic. Clawhauser's not in the best shape, and he doesn't have any real field experience at all. It'd been pretty heartening to see him working out at the gym and trying so hard to watch his diet, but behind the support we've been giving we all knew that he didn't have a chance with the ZIA.

“Oh Clawhauser...” Judy says sympathetically. She's too short to put a paw on his, but she reaches up to touch the edge of the front desk at least.

“I mean what am I even doing here?” Clawhauser continues morosely. He tosses the half-eaten donut into the trash. “Every year I practically kill myself trying to pass the annual physical, and no one ever gives me a case. I was a hundred pounds lighter when I went through the academy to be a cop, but I haven't been out on patrol in ages. All I'm good for is sitting here taking up space, and every day I take up a little bit more.”

He rubs round belly for emphasis.

“Aww, cheer up, big guy,” I say as I peek over the edge of the desk. “You know we all depend on you here. Bogo wouldn't have put you right back on desk duty after the whole Night Howler case if we didn't.”

He sighs. “What? So I'm just a mascot for the ZPD?”

“Clawhauser...” Judy says as she circles around the desk so she can actually hold his paw. “You're much more than that. You remember when you were moved to records during the Night Howler case?”

“Yeah?” he says, not even looking at Judy. He flicks a pen along his desk, and it rolls slowly over a pile of papers.

“I'm not sure if you know this, but when that happened the list of complaints we received from visitors shot up by fifty percent. Statements went misfiled, and a lot of our operations began to come apart at the seams. Why do you think everyone was so happy to see you back?”

Clawhauser brightens up a little as he looks to Judy. “Really?”

“Really!” Judy chirps. “Okay so... the reports for burglaries in Sahara Square, where are they?”

“Hard copies or digital? Because if you wanna get the original paperwork you check records, third shelf on the left, section J4... they'll stick around for six months before they're shredded. But everyone knows that!”

I blink. “How does _anyone_ know that off the top of their head?”

“Honestly it doesn't sound like a big deal, but you're better at sorting paperwork than anyone I know,” Judy continues. Her little tuft of a tail is twitching as she goes on, the way it does when she's excited. “It's pretty much the lifeblood of any organization. The way I hear it, thanks to you we're about 22% more efficient than the ZPD branch districts. That's huge!”

Clawhauser looks at her skeptically. “Are you serious?”

“You know us bunnies are terrible liars.”

“Us foxes are _great_ liars,” I grin, “But trust me when I say that my day doesn't really start until I get a smile from you, big fella. That time you had to go to the dentist and Higgins took the front desk... I swear, there was just this real sour mood in the whole precinct. Seeing you first thing in the morning really helps wake everyone up.”

A big, toothy grin spreads across Clawhauser's face now, and he wraps a paw around Judy's middle. The pitched, cheerful squeal is back in his voice. “Awww... thanks, you guys! That makes me feel so much better!”

“Hey you're one of us, Clawhauser.” With Judy's bright smile, she can't help but improve the mood of everyone she meets. “You make our lives so much smoother, we gotta look out for you too.”

“That said,” I point to the box of donuts, “Don't suppose you have any blueberry ones in there?”

Clawhauser sticks his tongue out a bit and nudges the box closer to me. “Honestly? Help yourself. After two weeks without sugar all this stuff has gotten too sweet for me.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“Heading out early, Jack?”

I'd thrown my jacket over my shoulder, but I do a quick mental check. My wallet and my keys are in my right pocket. My cellphone is in my left. The recipe is tucked under my shoulder in a manila envelope, still faintly warm from the printer.

“Yep,” I smile up at Elkredge. “Gonna head out and pick up some supplies. I'm trying out a new recipe tonight.”

“Again?” he harrumphs, tapping the pack of cigarettes against his thigh. He'd only just come back from his smoke break, but already he wants another one. Those things are gonna kill him one day I keep telling him, but he always tells me that's precisely why he picked up the habit.

“Well, keep trying I guess. But at some point you should just give up and live with the fact that you'll be surviving on takeout for the rest of your life.”

“It's a hobby,” I shrug.

“Hobbies are something you're supposed to get good at eventually.”

“Hey, we all gotta do something to stay sane in our off-hours.” Turning around I give him a lazy wave over my shoulder as I head out.

It's that sort of blunt honesty that makes me appreciate Miles. All too many agents know of my reputation, and they want to just kiss my tail when they're working for me. Useless. Worse than useless, since they'll be more inclined to give me selective intelligence or paper over mistakes in order to look good. That's the important thing about leadership: you gotta know that fuckups will happen, and you gotta make sure your agents know that you know, and that you'll always be happier with real answers over placating bullshit. That way they understand the best thing they can do is to be honest and accurate.

Miles though, he's always to the point. He doesn't care whose feelings he has to hurt, he just wants to get the job done. I have him to thank for putting me through the ringer when I was still a greenpaw at the game. The guy had been my mentor when I first joined the ZIA nine years ago. Without him I wouldn't have gotten as tough as I needed to be, or rocketed through the ranks so quickly. When Director Seraphine let me build my own task force he'd obviously been my first choice.

“Goodbye, Agent Savage,” a female wolf says as I pass by.

“Have a nice night, Agent Savage,” a pig giggles.

“Oh! Agent Savage! See you tomorrow, okay?” squeals a cheetah. I'm still getting a handle on all the new names and faces, but Clawhauser stands out from the bunch. Sweet guy, but he really needs to lay off all the sugary treats if he wants to pass his next fitness evaluation.

I give a cool smile and a wave to each fawning mammal that greets me on my way out. I'm sure they've heard by now the rumors surrounding me and Skye. Truth is we'd broken up long ago to keep our professional boundaries intact. This job doesn't have much room for sentiment. It doesn't have room for much of a personal life in general, in fact. So it helped to have others think I was already taken, just to avert any awkward encounters and complications.

Think of it as romantic counterintelligence.

“Oh Jack,” Lenny runs up to me. “I just finished those forensic reports from that recent Blue mauling.”

He sniffs the air momentarily. “Huh. Fresh printer ink. And it's only four o'clock... oh god.”

Lenny's got quite possibly the sharpest nose in the city. It makes him an excellent forensic analyst, but it also means he often figures out what you're up with irritating ease.

“Eh, it's a slow day,” I shrug. “Besides, I gotta learn how to make something other than garlic bread. Why don't you just leave it on my desk and take off early? Hit the clubs.”

“Well, it _has_ been a while...” Lenny's eyes roll off to the side as he ponders my suggestion, his tail wagging behind him. When it comes to getting his dick wet, 'a while' in Lenny-speak is around four days. From what I hear (and with these ears I hear a lot) Lenny's been hard at work in the ZPD, working over hard any she-wolf he can lure into his apartment. Everyone at ZIA Headquarters already knows his reputation, that with him “the clap” is more like “applause.” The ZPD though has proven to be fertile new hunting ground.

Oh god not _too_ fertile, I hope. Last thing he needs is a pack of cubs and child support payments.

Once I get to my car I plug my phone into the USB charger and pull up Zoogle Maps. First stop is the local WalrusMart. I know, I know, big-box stores are ruining small businesses by crowding out and outcompeting local joints by deliberately underpricing their goods at a loss. And normally I wouldn't step into one, but this is just for the sake of convenience. I'll splurge at my local mom-and-pop at the earliest opportunity, Bunny Scout's honor.

A quick Zoogle search tells me which of the toaster ovens on display has the best temperature control. Wheeling my cart to the food storage section I pick up a pack of mason jars. Cookware section is just the next aisle over, and that's where I get one of those tiny nonstick pans meant to cook a single sunny-side up egg. A fresh new apron joins the cart too.

The most difficult thing to hunt down is a mortar-and-pestle, and frankly the lone employee in the section is some teenage sloth who is less than helpful. He's barely past his second sentence when I simply give up and start looking on my own again. Rude, I know, but I'm losing daylight here.

I finally notice them shelved next to the cheese graters. It's not like I need a particularly huge one, but standing next to a mortar big enough for me to curl up in I'm almost tempted to buy it. It reminds me of an old legend from Asia, where the divinities challenged the surrounding mammals to show charity to a starving tiger sitting beside a fire.

The fox, being wily as hell, stole bread. The otter being a water mammal caught fish. The sloth, after a long-ass period of time, picked fruit from the trees. But the rabbit, well... we ate grass back in the day. With nothing else to offer, the bunny threw himself into the flames to feed the tiger his own flesh.

For his sacrifice he was blessed with divine powers, and was given the task of living on the moon. There he would use both paws to pound out the elixir of immortality in a giant mortar and pestle. Though other sources say he's just pounding out delicious mochi dough. Which some might say is better, because mochi actually exists.

But no, I'll do the more boring, less self-aggrandizing thing and just be practical. Besides, the last thing I want is to get transported to the cold-ass lunar surface and get fried by cosmic radiation.

Stuffing the goods in the back of my car I set my next destination. The local hardware store.

I must look out of place here, where flannel and t-shirts and paws rough with calluses are the norm. Yet here I am in my crisp shirt and solid black tie, so prim and neat I look like the top dollar of white collar. Even with my sleeves rolled up I've got mammals giving me glances as I browse the aisles with a shopping basket hanging in the crook of my elbow. No doubt they're wondering if, at my size, I can even handle a wrench or screwdriver. Just the words “bunny” and “hardware store” don't seem like they should even be in the same sentence. This, despite the fact that most of us grew up in the country where any proper adult knew how to repair his own shit.

Still, I press on. Goggles, face mask, gloves. I bring the basket to the help counter.

“Is it okay if I try these on?” I ask.

The rhino leans over the counter to look at me, and to his credit he doesn't seem all that perturbed by my presence. “Sure, go ahead. Mirror's over there.”

I got three different brands of each, and I put them on in turn. One set of goggles is too loose, so I put that aside. The other two seem to fit equally well, and the choice comes down to style. Only one of the face masks fits over my muzzle perfectly, so that's easy. The gloves... why did I need three pairs again? They're just gloves.

“Thank you,” I say when I return to the help desk. Crap why does everything have to be so big? I have to perch up on my toes to set the remaining items on the counter. “Could you please put these back for me?”

“Sure, no problem.”

With my basket half-filled I head to the greenhouse section. The air is crisp and moist, the ground damp due to the recent spray from the misters overhead. It smells like the farm where I grew up, cool and lush. I can almost feel the soil beneath my toes again.

It doesn't take me long to find what I need, but still I linger, indulging in just a bit of nostalgia. When I'm done mulling over things I turn to head out, when a familiar voice calls out behind me.

“Oh! Agent Savage!”

I look up and smile. “Ah. Officer Hopps, good to see you here.”

Though I can't say the same to the mammal standing next to her.

“Officer Wilde,” I say, trying to sound similarly cordial. It always helps to be polite. Yet he looks down at me with those cool green eyes of his, his gaze completely neutral despite the smile on his face.

“Agent Savage,” he says in an almost stony, professional tone. “Picking up some protective gear I see. Trying to cook again?”

My ears go rigid. How did he know already? Who'd let it slip? I mean it wasn't exactly classified information or anything, more of an open secret that anything more complex than butter and bread and a touch of seasoning was beyond me. But it wasn't as if my attempts were flaming disasters. Okay, maybe that _one_ time, but that was six years ago.

I actually have to make a conscious effort to collect myself. This fox really knows how to get under my fur.

“Why Mr. Wilde, are you trying to embarrass me in front of Judy here?” I say, putting on a teasing expression.

The smile slips from his face the moment I use her first name.

“Nick! That's not nice!” Judy says firmly, punching him in the shoulder. He winces at the blow.

“It's all right, Judy,” I give her a warm smile, just bordering on flirtatious. For all she knows the rumors about me and Skye are just that. Rumors. Fact is though, I have no romantic interest in her. If only Nick knew he could rest easy, but I'm not about to give him the luxury of psychological comfort just yet. “We're off the clock. Feel free to call me Jack.”

Her ears flush a warm pink. I'd seen the adoration in her eyes the moment I entered the ZPD, a dozen agents in crisp and freshly-pressed black suits trailing behind me. Granted every mammal in the room had looked at me the same way, male and female, straight and gay. All except two: Chief Bogo, which was fair... no police chief liked their hooves getting stepped on by another agency.

And the fox standing in front of me.

He wraps one paw around his partner's shoulder, pulling her close. When the smile returns to his face, it seems forced. Talk about a green-eyed monster.

“So any news about who got into the task force?” Judy asks eagerly. “I mean, I know you can't say just yet, but well... everyone is wondering.”

“Well, you're right. I can't reveal anything just yet. Leakers don't get far in the ZIA. Buuut...” I lean in close, “Well... let's just say a certain star officer made the selection easily.”

Judy lets out a quiet little squeal, covering her mouth, her violet eyes bright as amethysts. I might not be interested in her, but god she really is cute.

And yes, _I_ can say it.

“Same goes for you, Nick,” I say casually, as if tossing a rag in his direction.

The look on his face is priceless. It isn't often you catch a former con artist off-guard.

“Wh... you mean...”

“Is it really that surprising?” I smile, trying not to look too smug. “You've turned into the best shot on the force. You have an incredible intellect when it comes to getting into the minds of criminals. And your urban connections throughout the city have, I've heard, been invaluable in solving a multitude of cases, big and small. We'll need all of those talents on my team.”

With each complement layered over the other Nick's eyes grow more and more worried. It's subtle, incredibly subtle... almost unnoticeable if I hadn't been actively prodding him on this. Years of working on covert operations and performing interrogations helped too. By the look of it his mind is racing to find the razor hidden in the apple before he even considers taking a bite.

Judy is bouncing on her toes now. If she weren't actively restraining herself she'd be jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of her and Nick on my team.

“Well, I have to get back and start cooking, so I'll see you at the precinct on Monday,” I give her a wink. “I think you'll enjoy working under me.”

The look Nick shoots me when I turn away with my shopping basket is filled with pure, unmasked loathing. He wants me to know exactly what he thinks of me. Frankly, I don't care. I'll be dealing with him soon enough.

After packing my new purchases in the back of my car I look up. There, just down the street, is a pet store. Huh.

Entering to browse on a whim I walk past the ant farms and beetle jars. For a while I stand in front of the tall acrylic case, within which several dozen parakeets flutter between the branches. Rope ladders hang from the top of the small aviary, not so much for the birds to perch on as much as for them to peck at. Several rungs had been thoroughly chewed to splinters.

One of the parakeets, with black-and-white feathers and a sky blue breast, flutters to the rope ladder closest to me and stares at me through the acrylic barrier. It tilts its head, blinking curiously, and starts to peck aggressively in my direction.

Mmm, no. No, I don't think so.

The arthropods hold as little interest for me. Oh sure it was fascinating to stare into the tanks, trying to count the walking sticks apart from all the normal brown twigs in there. My fur prickled at the sight of the centipedes with their dozens of spindly orange legs and serpentine segmented bodies. Granted the hermit crabs were mildly amusing, with the glossy painted shells the store also sold, or the glass shells so you could see them curled up within their homes. Yet I could never trust anything with pincers.

And then I come to the aquarium section.

I browse the colorful little things, swimming calmly between drifts of kelp, both plastic and real. The plastic sunken boats and treasure chests, especially the ones that pop open momentarily in a belch of bubbles, are my favorite.

For a moment I think back to my first big mission: the undersea lab, the insane, one-eyed tiger and his henchmen. I remember the screams, the howls, the crackle of glass like distant thunder that heralds the storm. There'd been the sparks of electronics popping and hissing like insects dying beneath a magnifying glass, as the sea closed in to drown his foul experiments. I'd saved those I could, but the rest I had to kill. I'd had to kill them _**all**_...

“Excuse me, sir? Can I help you?” an otter in a blue vest totters over to greet me. Before me the treasure chest gives yet another little _blub_.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I was wondering about that.” I point off to the side, at a bright red fish.

“Aaah, yes. New arrival, that. _Bodianus frenchii_ , from the temperate waters in southern Pawstralia. Saltwater fish, if you have the tank for it. Quite long-lived and rare. You'll want to keep it out of the sun. A bit exotic, but their bright coloration and pattern will certainly wake up any tank.”

“ _Bodianus_... the old Latin for 'reddish' isn't it?”

“Very good!” the otter smiles. “Though if you prefer the common name, it's also known as 'foxfish.'”

Perfect.

I walk out with a fishbowl tucked in one paw, stuffed with a case of specially formulated salt for the water and a box of fish food. In my other paw I hold a plastic baggie with my new friend swimming around.

“I think I'm going to name you 'Nick,'” I say happily.

My loft is much bigger than I need, but I like the space. Twenty-foot high ceiling, with a sprawling living room, an 85-inch high-def television screen, and even a hot tub on the balcony big enough to fit an elephant. The architecture is quite contemporary, so all the walls and counters are pearl white. The corners had all been rounded and even the edges of the steps are curved. Bunnies tend to prefer it to the hard cubist angles that modernist designers like so much. Reminds us of our burrows, I suppose. Yet you still wouldn't think a bunny lived here, if it weren't for the abundance of lapin-sized stairs and walkways I had installed to make the place fully accessible for me.

I've got quite a load of purchases to carry up, but I bring Nick in, first thing. I set the baggie on the counter and measure out the precise amount of salt needed, and with a bare paw I swirl it in the bowl to dissolve it in half the volume of water before filling it up with the rest. Opening up the bag I dump Nick in there, and he immediately starts swimming in circles.

“There you go, welcome to your new home.”

The cute little guy responds by swimming towards me, right up to the glass. His big, green eyes are blank and expressionless. His mouth opens and closes mutely. I smile, and poke the bowl with a finger.

“Boop.”

It takes me another little while to bring everything in, unpack all the new equipment, and fold up the cardboard for recycling. By the time I'm done the sky outside is beginning to turn a warm, autumnal red, and a cool breeze is beginning to pick up.

Opening up all the windows, loosening my tie just an inch, I get to work.

I put on the apron. It's pink and frilly, with the message “Chin the Cook” printed on the front. I'd only chosen it because it made me chuckle.

The face mask goes on next, then the goggles. Also, coming from someone who's done plenty of scuba diving: spit, swish, and a quick rinse on the inside of the goggles is the most basic anti-fogging measure you can take. Pre-wetting the fur around your eyes makes a better seal too.

Of course, you gotta put on some music when you're cooking. I hook my phone up to the charger and connect it to my apartment sound system via Bluetooth. See, this is the reason I live here. With the sound system it's great for hosting cocktail parties with larger guests.

As usual I select my Caribou Palace playlist. What can I say? Electro-swang be my thang.

The synthetic jazz tune kicks up slowly throughout the apartment, and I begin to tap my foot. I finally take the recipe out from the manila envelope and pull on my gloves to Doe Colitis' sweet vocals.

 

_"Bad boys"- are not so picky_

_They ride away, and feel so happy_

_To fight for girls they do adore_

_Snorting like boars rolling on the floor_

_With their pleather jacket and their rocky voice_

_They hit, fight, kick, wreak havoc and rejoice_

_Nobody knows what they are looking for_

_A kind of battle axe or maybe more_

 

The recipe is a simple one. Much too simple, really. And granted while I'm pretty crap in the kitchen, this is another thing entirely.

I take out the little baggie I'd gotten from the greenhouse, and roll the dozen little beans onto my counter. I turn one of them across the marble surface, the banded tiger-stripe pattern of the seed is eye-wrenching against the rippled stone. When I hold it in my palm though it's quite pretty.

Placing them all in the mortar I begin to grind. It's hard at first: the outer shell is firm, and it takes a bit of hammering to break the things open. But soon the bands of light brown stripes are lost in a sea of gray-white mush. It has to be thoroughly pulverized, and I work until my paws are sore and the stuff resembles a very sad-looking toothpaste.

Scooping the mash onto a square of aluminum foil, I spread it out with a plastic spoon and place the it in the toaster oven, setting it to 300 degrees. The water needs to cook off, and the toasting will help draw out the oils and aromatic compounds. I sigh through the mask, the humidity of my breath held in by the mesh of fibers and plastic. This was gonna take a while. I bob my head, humming along as a series of instrumental pieces etch away at the tedium of staring at the clock, when a familiar saxophone open starts up.

Oh shit, I love this song!

 

_Swing, boy... brother swing._

_Come oooon, swing again!_

_Swing, boy... oh, brother swing._

_Doooon't STOP! SWING AGAIN!_

 

I raise my paws over my head, shaking my cute little ass back and forth. I buck my hips, tail twitching to the beat as I twirl along the bunny-sized walkway running along the counter. The smell of the mash cooking is earthy and pungent, but I'm lost in the haze of Colitis' rapid-fire scat singing, twisting my hips before an invisible crowd on an unseen dance floor. I can almost feel the ice-cold Paloma in my paw, the heat of the bodies grinding around me...

 

_Boys and girls, shake your knees_

_Andmakeyourpartnersswingwiththebreeze_

_Clap your paws snapyourfingersandsing_

_Popeil... popeil!_

_Here comes swingyboy-dancingring_

_Lookingfortheking-Thekingoftheswing!_

_So clap your paws, snapyourfingersandsing_

_BROTHERSWIIIIIIING!_

 

And just as she hits that sweet, pitched note, sharp enough to cut the air, the oven lets out a soft _ding_.

I'm still snapping my fingers and swishing across the catwalk as I flick on the light switch with my elbow. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, and the sky outside is a fan of blood-red and tyrian purple, with long streaks of indigo trailing behind it.

I take the foil square out with a forlorn sigh as the track switches to one with a slower rhythm. The mash had cooked down to a greasy brown residue, and with the same spoon I scoop it gently into a mason jar once it's cooled sufficiently. Twisting open the bottle of chloroform I'd readied I pour it in to fill it to the half-inch mark. A good bit of gunk remains on the foil, but I decide it's better to just leave it than to try harvesting every last gram. Resting an elbow on the counter I yawn, stirring the mixture slowly until all of the paste dissolves.

Letting it steep through another song (this time a slow, jazzy sort of waltz) I tie a coffee filter around the mouth of a second jar with a rubber band. Pouring the mixture through it separates out the solids, and a more-or-less clean solution, like water that'd been impregnated with a few drops of thick cream, drips into the bottom.

Once I'm sure nothing else is gonna drip through I carefully remove the filter and the particulates, stuffing them in the first jar as a discard bin. I pour in just a bit of rubbing alcohol this time, stirring with a fresh spoon now, until the chloroform layer clarifies and all the milk-white stuff is drawn into the supernatant. I pour off as much of this as I can into the first jar, reserving only the now-clear bottom half.

This stuff now goes into the little nonstick egg pan, along with a spoonful of sugar. It's completely insoluble in chloroform, but adding sugar as a filler agent just makes my life easier in the end. I move the toaster oven to the edge of the counter now, as close to the open balcony door as I can manage, stick in the pan, and turn down the heat to cook off the solvent without burning my product. Stuff stinks to high heaven, and without a fume hood this is the best I can manage.

I step out onto the balcony to dance away freely, far from the fumes. I know what you're thinking: if anyone is looking up at me from a neighboring building and they see a bunny in a pink apron and tie, with a pair of goggles and a face mask shaking his little cottontail ass, they're gonna get suspicious. Trust me: they won't. My neighbors have seen far, far worse on this balcony.

 

_Get into a what they call a jumping mood._

_You know what I mean by jumping mood?_

_Well, we just can't miss._

_Ladies and gentlemen._

_Are you ready?_

 

In the privacy of my own home I can try out some real ridiculous moves to my music. I twerk. I moonwalk. I do the robot, rolling my head back and forth on my neck like it's independent of my body, arms at stiff right angles.

I check in on my stuff and give it a quick stir of course, every ten minutes or so. That's like two and a half songs. Half an album later I'm satisfied with the end result. Carefully, ever so carefully and far from the window, away from any drafts, I spoon the powder into a tiny vial I had prepared, dropping not a single grain.

Cleanup is the real bitch here. I spread out several large garbage bags, apply bleach to everything I've used. I dump the sterilized mortar and pestle, the mason jars, the nonstick pan, the spoons, even the toaster oven once it's cooled down. I double-bag it. Then I triple-bag it for good measure. My goggles, apron, mask, and gloves go into a separate bag.

Whew. Done.

I admire my handiwork against the energy-efficient LED lights I had installed when I first moved in. Seriously, everyone says they want to go green but CFL bulbs are not the way.

The contents of the vial look like normal sugar, if with a slightly more iridescent sheen. Well, only one way to find out how good it is.

Nick's fishbowl had been tucked onto the balcony this whole time, away from the cooking. I bring him inside now, and sprinkle in some of his fish food. He's happily bobbing to the surface, nibbling on the multicolored flakes. With a small scoop no wider than the end of a hairpin, I carefully drop two or three particles of the product into his water, each no bigger than a grain of salt. They dissolve immediately in hair-thin swirls.

Sighing, I seal the vial back up and head to the shower. I might need to burn my clothes too.

The water is warm as it sluices through my fur, though after having to drink in the humidity of my own muggy breaths for so long I'm not a fan of the steam.

I stare into the little mirror I have stuck up on the tiled wall, its surface specked with droplets. Not for the first time I stare at my reflection, drawing a finger over the gray stripes that stretch along my cheeks. And if you're wondering: yes, the stripes do go all the way down. So now you know the little secret that all my lovers have uncovered.

I sigh. It was because of these, wasn't it?

 

~~~~~

 

_Mom's breath was hot in my ear as she ran. The forest whizzed past us, and in the dark, moonless night it was a blur of gray and black. I knew I was slowing her down, that Andy could be much further ahead of us if he wasn't hanging back to stay with us. Yet the fear had paralyzed me, and my legs felt like water. She couldn't abandon me._

_I was eight years old, and they were coming after us._

_When you see chase scenes in the movies, you always hear the angry shouts of the pursuers. You always see the beams of flashlights in the distance, cutting through the night air like white-hot blades. I wish it'd been the case. Our pursuers didn't need flashlights. With their night vision they could pursue us perfectly fine by starlight alone. They chased us like they were our own shadows: dark, silent, and inescapable._

_How could the air smell so lush right now? So clean and full of life? We were fleeing for our lives, blind with terror. There was no plan, no hope, no thought of how to escape. And yet beneath it all the smell of the forest was so pure, and that visceral sensation, brimming with sweetness, was so disconnected from what was happening that this all seemed like a dream._

_Indeed, in the years to follow, I would convince myself that this all **had** indeed been just one long nightmare._

_Something cracked beneath us, and suddenly the feeling of my body bouncing in my mother's arms was gone. For one long heart-wrenching instant I felt weightless, and the shapeless blurs of the trees around us twisted across my vision. Yet my mother had turned in the air on instinct, and when we landed with a hard grunt her body cushioned me from the hard roots beneath us._

_“Mom!” Andy cried, pulling at her arm. “Mom please get up!”_

_“I- I can't, sweetie... my back-” she whimpered through the pain. “You have to take Jack. Take him and go south. Just keep running as far as you can and keep heading towards Bunnyburrow...”_

_“No mom please...” Andy sobbed._

_“M-m-mom...” I bubbered. “Mom...”_

_“Go. Go! I'll be fine, boys. Just please be brave and go!” Her voice was cracking. It was all a lie. Deep down she hadn't wanted us to leave her._

_Somehow, paralyzed with fear as I was I kept calling out as my brother dragged me off._

_“Mommy!” I cried. I could barely see her silhouette now, through the darkness and the tears. “Mommy!”_

_I don't know how much further we ran. Yet by this point my own survival instincts had kicked in, and Andy half-carried me as I stumbled alongside him. At some points my feet barely touched the ground, and even then it was just my toes pressing against the damp soil in a useless attempt to tread the earth alongside my brother._

_When we reached the riverbank the both of us collapsed in exhaustion, up to our wrists in the mud._

_I panted, whimpering as the hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn't care anymore if we were caught. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted to go back to the farm, to be with mom and dad and all my brothers and sisters. Even if we were prisoners, even if it meant we were all going to die, it was better for us to stay together, wasn't it?_

_All of a sudden I felt something thick and wet and cold slapping against my back. Looking behind me, Andy was scooping big pawfuls of mud and spreading it into my fur._

_“B-big bro? Wh-” a big gob smacked me in the face. It filled my mouth, and it tasted of moldy grass and rotting vegetation._

_I spat it out and wailed. “No! No I don't like this!”_

_“Jack shut up!” he hissed, and miraculously I did as he smeared it all over my torso. “It'll cover up your scent. It's the only way they can track us right now, so you do me and...”_

_Not too far from us the snap of twigs sounded, the bushes rustled._

_Frantically he grabbed my tiny, mud-caked body and shoved me into the hollow of a nearby log, dodging behind a tree just as one of them broke through the brush._

_“Come out little rabbit...” he panted, before letting out a low chuckle. “Come on, little bunny. We're not mad. We know this wasn't your idea...”_

_I knew that voice. The arctic fox, the one they called the Smiler. The name was the furthest thing from happiness. When anyone spoke of the Smiler, it was in hushed, terrified tones. And when anyone came back from the Smiler, it was with a new set of scars and a great many tears._

_“No! No, please!” mom wailed as she, too, was dragged through the bushes, her ears in the grip of another fox. My stomach heaved seeing her brutalized like that, but she barely struggled. Her legs dragged limp and useless behind her._

_“Come on out, bunny. I can smell you... I know you're there,” the Smiler chuckled again. There was nothing in his tone that would hint at madness. In fact, he always had the perpetually gentle, patient demeanor of a doctor or a grade school teacher. There was this placating calm about him, one that made you want to trust him the moment he spoke. And this made it all the more terrifying when you learned about the cruelty he was capable of. “Yes... you're behind that tree, aren't you? Well, this bloodline can't be a total failure. I know that deep down inside your instinct is to obey like a good little rabbit. Now if you don't step out where I can see you... I will have Jacob here spread her legs **right the fuck now**!”_

_I shivered. When the Smiler was chipper like he always was, you feared him. When he snapped... you knew someone was going to die screaming._

_“I don't think he's old enough to know what that means,” said Jacob in a flat, emotionless tone._

_“He knows well enough.”_

_Andy had laid himself flat against the tree, chest puffing in and out rapidly. His violet eyes darted toward me for a moment, and he mouthed the words “keep quiet.”_

_And then slowly, before my eyes, he raised his paws and stepped out. His legs trembled. His paws and shins and feet were coated in mud. Andy tottered forward awkwardly, quivering like a leaf, before collapsing to his knees just a yard from the snow-white fox._

_“P-P-Please... s-s-sir...” Andy whimpered._

_My brother let out a yelp as Jacob pulled something out of his pocket and twisted it in his paws. With a faint snap the glow stick lit up, casting the whole scene in a sickly yellow-green light. My mother slumped beside her captor, her ears tight in his grip. The Smiler was living up to his name, grinning triumphantly, and at the sight of the arctic fox the both of them broke down._

_There is nothing more terrible than seeing your elders cry. Someone who is supposed to be older than you, stronger and wiser... someone who is supposed to be your guide and protector, weeping… It's the worst sort of message. It's the first terrible sign to a child that there are things in this world far beyond their understanding. It's the first lesson that there are nightmares that you will have no protection from. That there are demons which cow even those you've looked up to your whole tender life._

_And two of them were standing not ten feet from me._

_“Shameful...” a third voice hissed now. It was cold and erudite. The accent was crisp, honed sharp with years of fine education. “I had such high hopes for this breed.”_

_The Prince stepped from the shrubbery. Even now I can remember every trace of him. The dark green coat in that garish paisley pattern, the tie blue as sorrow. The shirt he wore beneath it was black as sin. And there was the white fur that dusted his muzzle, like a red fox that'd been sniffing through a snowbank._

_He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “Oh Daisy, Daisy... what shall I do with you? Years of matching you with partners over and over, and we finally come up with one new phenotype that I can call the Tiger Lily. Why did you have to do something as stupid as this? He would have been treated so well as prime breeding stock. We would've kept him safe, pampered him and paired him off with so many virile young females. And if females weren't to his liking, a gentle milking now and again...”_

_“You... you would've made him a slave...” Mom sobbed._

_The Prince sighed. “A bunny that talks back. What is the world coming to? Well, perhaps I am to blame. I kept pursuing this project, even when the behavioral tests showed this bloodline expressed unacceptable obedience ratings.”_

_“This one is quiet docile, my Prince,” the Smiler said, gesturing towards Andy. My brother bowed his head, shaking with tears._

_“Hmm. Well perhaps this one can be saved. The rest will simply have to be discarded. Now where is the young buck? The one who would've been my sweet Tiger Lily?”_

_“We...” Andy hiccuped. “We lost him... a... a mile ago maybe? He was slowing us down, so we had to leave him behind... but please don't hurt him! Please! Jack is a good bunny! He'll be very good!”_

_The Prince made a point of ignoring Andy's pleas. A bunny was beneath his notice. A bunny that dared to speak to him directly, without prompting, would've normally offended his sensibilities. Yet even now with one on his knees, muddy paws clasped before him pleading for his brother's life, the Prince didn't even exhibit mild disgust._

_He simply felt nothing at all._

_“Well. Unfortunately recent genetic tests have indicated that my prototype's coat pattern is chromosomally linked to the distinctive behavioral problems of this bloodline. Certain eccentricities that would make buyers nervous. Pity. It appears that the Tiger Lily has always been but an ephemeral dream.”_

_He nodded to Jacob then. “Take care of her, Prodigal.”_

_“M-My Prince?”_

_“Do it. You know what happens when you upset me.”_

_There was no more hesitation. In one smooth motion Jacob drew the gun from his holster, pointed it at my mother's head, and in a crack like the sound of thunder, a puff of red mist sprayed out from her other temple._

_Andy shrieked, scrabbling at our mother's body as she slumped to the dirt. In my cramped little hole I could only watch, trembling, eyes wide with terror as the warmth puddled between my legs, and as the tears ran down my cheeks. Those were the only sources of warmth that I could feel in that moment. Everything else had gone ice cold and numb._

_“Well,” said the Prince as Andy clung to our mother's limp form. “Terminate the little buck when you find him. A quick snap of the neck will do... I will want his coat intact. A memento of this project, at least.”_

_“Yes, my Prince,” said Jacob._

_“For now though,” he said, glancing at my older brother. “Make sure this one learns the price of disobedience.”_

_“Of course, my Prince,” the Smiler slid a knife out of its sheath. He and the Prodigal bowed respectfully. “It is our pleasure to serve. **Deus vulp**.”_

_The Prince nodded sagely, heedless to Andy's desperate pleas for mercy._

_“ **Deus vulp**.”_

 

~~~~~

 

I step out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, my fur fluffed out. I'd conditioned today, so my coat will be extra silky. They say once a week is sufficient, but I usually don't go more than three or four days without slathering it on.

Hey, I have a right to be a little vain. I have a unique coat pattern after all.

Dabbing the water out of my ears with a wad of cotton I shake myself off once more. There's nothing like a long, hot shower to refresh you. That, and tea. I'm in an Earl Grey mood right now. I should probably eat something, too.

Takeout it is.

I trot into the kitchen still wearing only a towel. As I pull the tea bags out of the cupboard though, my eyes catch the fishbowl.

Nick, my pet foxfish, is floating on his side, bobbing along the surface surrounded by the now-soggy flakes of multicolored protein like muddy confetti. His mouth is still. His emerald green eyes have grown glassy. There's not a single ounce of life left in him.

Just two or three particles, each no bigger than a grain of salt. Colorless, odorless, tasteless if you don't count the sugar. More importantly, easily missed on an autopsy.

I smile as I fill my mug from my hot water dispenser, and the sweet aromas of black tea and bergamot oil tickle my nose. Nick's corpse had floated towards the edge of the glass. I give the patch of fishbowl he's bobbed up to a playful poke.

“Boop.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 5 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I felt the need to add a bit of Clawhauser here. It makes me sad that he's portrayed as a bit of an incompetent buttmonkey in the movie as well as some of the comics. Here I wanted to show him in a more positive light. And yes, he's always going to be his sweet plus-size self in my fanon, I just want him to take some steps to make sure he doesn't get diabetes and lose his toes.
> 
> Jack's section here was actually the very first chapter I wrote for this series, because I got it into my head and I needed to type it out before the brainweasels ate it. I know I know, songfics suck, but I felt it was pretty important to interweave some lyrics into the scene to highlight the surreal elements: a sharp contrast between the upbeat jazzy lyrics of electro-swing and what he's doing here. It's a nice juxtaposition that adds a certain dissonance, I think.
> 
> For those of you who don't know Caravan Palace, YouTube their music sometime. "Lone Digger" and "Brotherswing" are at the top of my list. Electro-swang be my thang.
> 
> Also the FBI probably now has me on file for googling "how to cook ricin." Plz FBI, I'm not trying to do anything bad I just wanted to write fanfic.
> 
> As always, plz like and comment if you feel so inclined.


	6. Three Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy bumps into someone unexpected, Benjy saves seats in the ZIA briefing for Nick and Judy, and Doc Conall gets an unwanted visitor.
> 
> NEWS: I NEED A BETA READER. When you finish this chapter check the notes below for details.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“Fast food again...” Mr. Vash moans. “Every damn day it's a Bug Burga for lunch. There is a proper bisto _two blocks down the street_ where they make a decent linguine bottarga. Can't you _please_ just get me something from there? I will pay for it _myself_!”

To my surprise, Tarquin Vash is sitting at a corner table in the break room, and standing behind him is an antelope ZIA agent. We'd occasionally seen glimpses of him around the station ever since he resigned, but everyone just assumed he's been dealing with official stuff.

Now that I'm in the same room as him though, it obvious that that's not what's happening _at all_. The poor fox looks completely miserable. His shirt is rumpled as if he'd slept in it, and his suit jacket's dotted with a few mustard stains. His tie is pulled loose and the wedge is a bit off-center, like he'd tied it a week ago and he hadn't bothered to redo it in all that time. His fur could use a little grooming, and from the look of him he's been washing up in a bathroom sink. The poor guy desperately needs a proper shower. His eyes are bloodshot and ringed with dark circles too. Mr. Vash glares at the Bug Burga in front of him in disgust and nudges it away.

“District Attorney?” I say, before I remember he'd resigned.

Mr. Vash blinks and looks up, noticing me for the first time. A smile spreads across his face, and there's just a bit of the sophisticated tod I'd first met. “Judy Hopps! I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see a friendly face! I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to pick me up a pasta amatriciana, or perhaps a duck confit salad? I don't mind the occasional hot dog or burger, but this past week I've been living off of this garbage without even the decency of being given a drop of wine to lose myself in.”

“Like it or not, processed food is your safest bet for the moment,” the antelope says in a tone that I guess is supposed to sound apologetic. “Less chance of poison being slipped in.”

Poison?

“At this point I'm more liable to die of a coronary embolism with all the junk food you agents keep placing in front of me!” Vash snaps. He turns to me and tries to look genial. “Don't listen to him, my dear. The ZIA may be exemplary when it comes to security and espionage, but too many of them lack a certain _joie de vivre_.”

The agent mumbles from the corner of his mouth, something with the words “high maintenance.”

“What... happened?” I ask. “Are you all right, Mr. Vash?”

“Well I'm alive and breathing, which I suppose I should be thankful for. I'm sure you can tell that I've been living out of a suitcase this past week. I would've gone back to my apartment and packed it myself, but...”

The agent places a hoof on Mr. Vash's shoulder, and the former District Attorney goes quiet.

“Are... you in trouble?” I ask gently. It's clear now that the poor fox is under protective custody for some reason. “I mean, I'm not saying that you did anything illegal, it's just that... well... I never imagined you'd be in this situation.”

“Decided to stick to my principles in the face of the wrong mammal, I'm afraid,” he sighs. “I do wish I could tell you more, but the ZIA has a policy of keeping unnecessary information under lock and key. As a lawyer I can certainly respect that, but it really has been quite lonely these past few days.”

“You'd live under fewer restrictions if you'd just let us take you to ZIA Headquarters,” the antelope snaps. His patience is wearing thin. “You think we like expending all these extra resources to keep you alive here in the ZPD?”

“I despise the ZIA's fondness for Brutalist architecture,” Vash says with a wave of his paw. “Besides, even without my position as District Attorney I have a great deal of paperwork that needs to be completed. My will, for one. And the ZPD is the next best thing to my office in City Hall. I just wish I could get a little more freedom of movement. Even a trip to the cafeteria here would be a welcome change.”

“Well until Agent Elkredge can finish putting all his security measures in place, things are going to stay as they are. Now eat up, Mr. Vash. Your Bug Burga is getting cold.”

Vash's ears wilt, and he sighs as he turns back to his meal.

“Um, actually...” I say cheerfully as I reach into the fridge. “I just came in for a snack before Agent Savage gives his briefing. You're welcome to some if you like.”

I pull out a big tupperware box of Hopps' Family Farm blueberries.

“Oh my stars in heaven,” Vash gasps, his eyes wide as dinner plates.

I giggle. “They're Nick's favorite, too. I made sure to get an extra pallet when we visited. These've just been sitting in my freezer at home for the past week, but they still taste like they're fresh off the bush!”

The ZIA handler sighs. “I suppose that's all right.”

Mr. Vash plucks one of the bigger blueberries from the box and pops it into his mouth. Even though he prides himself on his composure, he leaves all decorum behind and scoops up a big pawful and starts eating them in twos and threes.

“Officer Hopps, I truly must commend you and your family on your horticultural talents.” He's leaning back now, and his shoulders relax so much that I can't believe I hadn't noticed how incredibly tense he's been. The look on his face is one of pure bliss. Even Nick's never looked so happy eating my family's blueberries.

Feeling a little sorry for him I set the box on the table and slide it towards him.

“Here, why don't you take the whole thing? I've still got a whole bunch in the freezer back home, and it looks like you could really use some cheering up.”

Mr. Vash blinks. “Truly? You aren't just teasing an old tod, are you?”

I put a paw to my mouth and stifle a laugh. “No, no I wouldn't do that.”

“Well Officer Hopps, if you or your family are ever in need of legal representation, I will be more than happy to do so _pro bono_.”

I'm about to leave and get a smoothie from the vendor outside, when Mr. Vash's paw shoots out and grabs mine. My heart stops when I see the intensity in his eyes. There's something wild in his gaze, something I _never_ expected to see in the respected lawyer.

“Ms. Hopps, you need to know something. The ZIA isn't here to merely deal with a drug epidemic-”

“All right, that's enough. Let's get back to your room,” the ZIA agent says firmly and seizes Mr. Vash by the arm. Vash in turn makes a grab for the box of blueberries, and tries desperately to keep any from spilling.

“Trust is a valuable thing, Ms. Hopps!” he cries out, “Keep faith in your friends, and no one else!”

I can only stare in shock as Vash's handler drags him away, while he desperately stuffs blueberries into his mouth by the pawful.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

I wave Nick and Judy over when I see them enter the briefing room. Sure they can get their own seats, but the two of 'em are just so damn _tiny_ that they'd have trouble seeing anything if they weren't in the front row. So knowing that Nick tended to drag his feet I'd done the Big Brother thing and reserved some seats here in the front row for 'em.

Most of the officers that'd been selected had arrived fifteen minutes early, not wanting to be late for Agent Savage's briefing. The place had been pretty empty then, except for the little stoat agent sweeping the room for bugs.

When the odd pair make their way down to me I notice that Judy seems a little preoccupied. Honestly, I would've thought she'd be more excited given how bouncy she was earlier this morning. Or given how bouncy she is _every_ morning. Right now though she seems concerned. Worried, even. Me and Nick exchange a glance, though his expression is unreadable. Did the two have another fight? A fox and a bunny... I don't even know where to even begin dealing with the complexities of interspecies relationship drama, but it's hard to mentally step away from the thought of intervening.

Again, it's the Big Brother in me.

“Hey Benjy, wanna hear a joke?” Nick says with a grin. Beside him Judy's already covering her face with her paw, so I know it's gonna be terrible.

“Fine, what?”

“How do you catch a bunny?”

I stare at him. Hell, _everyone_ on the row behind me is staring at him I think. There's this awkward tension in the air, but he's just wearing that trickster's smile of his. Look, I don't have anything against foxes, but if this was one of his sick, disgusting-

“Make a noise like a carrot.”

It takes a moment, but the dozen or so cops listening in burst into laughter. We were expecting something _way_ more un-PC when it comes to Wilde. Especially when he's joking about bunnies.

“So, looks like the three of us will be working together,” I chuckle and look down at Nick and Judy. As usual they're sharing a seat. The teams had been announced on the notice board, and I was a little surprised to see I'd been grouped with these two. Keeping partners together was pretty crucial in maintaining the team dynamic, so it made sense for them to be in the same group. Me though... I mean we get along just fine, but aside from the Lone Digger the three of us have never worked together. I mean, sure, we've had dinner together several times, but the ZIA can't know that.

Unless... they do. Which would be kind of eerie.

“Wondering why you're the third wheel?” Nick looks up at me with a coy smile. “It's kind of obvious. Brawn, brains, agility,” he says, pointing to me, himself, and Judy in turn.

All of a sudden he breaks into a laugh. “Fighter-mage-thief, eh? That's classic. Next time Benjy, try less gym, more video games.”

I let out an annoyed grunt. For someone who's as clever as he is, he sure does a thorough job of playing the idiot sometimes.

Judy however is just staring into her smoothie. It doesn't even seem like she's heard the ribbing. Nick glances down when he notices she's lost in thought.

“Carrots? What's going on?”

“I... bumped into Mr. Vash in the break room. Turns out he's under protective custody.”

“Wh- Tarquin Vash?” I glance back out the door. The break room is just down the hall. Is he still there, I wonder? “I think I've seen him a couple times, ever since he resigned. But I thought he was just here on business.”

“He's been living in one of the cub interview rooms,” Nick says casually.

“What?” Judy turns to look at him, wide-eyed. I goggle at Nick. Vash has been living in the ZPD for the past _week_? And Nick _knew_?

“You know, the play area upstairs where they take abused cubs sometimes. Padded floor, toys, pillows and blankets. Plus an assortment of dollies for the whole 'show me where he touched you' thing,” Nick shrugs. “Okay so I sneak a nap in there sometimes. I'm nocturnal. Plus it's in a low-traffic area of the building, nice and quiet for the little ankle-biters. Well turns out he's been staying in there with a ZIA handler on him at all times. Agent Skye wasn't happy when I stumbled across their little secret.”

“Doesn't explain what he was doing in the break room just now,” Judy murmurs.

“With all the new security measures they're probably loosening the leash a little,” I muse, thinking it over. “Poor guy is probably going stir-crazy in there.”

Indeed, the ZPD was starting to become a fortress. Key locations now had extra cameras mounted on the walls, and there are checkpoints with X-rays and chemosensors. All the windows were sealed shut too, not to mention all the ZIA agents standing watch.

“It's gotta have something to do with the task force,” Judy says, thinking. “The Blue epidemic? Or maybe it's whatever made Mr. Big send Fru-Fru into hiding...”

I bristle at the mention of Mr. Big. While leaving the shrew to his own devices is probably the best option, I can never be comfortable with Judy's association with one of Zootopia's biggest crime bosses.

Nick is mulling it over himself now. Though I hate to admit it, if anyone has a brain for puzzling things like this out it'd be Nick Wilde.

The small talk among the crowd dies down to a hush the moment we see a now-familiar rabbit at the door.

Agent Savage cuts an imposing figure for a bunny. Unlike Judy there's no bounce in his step, and his demeanor is all cool and crisp and professional. You wouldn't know from his poise that just half an hour ago Bogo had been bellowing at him in his office, something about taking some of the ZPD's best officers.

Plenty of us had listened in on the back-and-forth, with Savage countering real calmly that if Bogo didn't want them to be selected he shouldn't have put them on the recommendation list. And of course Bogo had snapped with something about the ZIA running roughshod through the department, and Jack talking about “temporary transition problems.” I'm not one to eavesdrop, but frankly even I leaned in a little closer to try to hear what was going on.

Frankly, I'm pretty ambivalent on the whole situation. On the one paw, Bogo's done good by the ZPD: he's tough, doesn't take any shit, and he really knows how to lead. The guy's got my utmost respect. Yet on the other, you gotta admire the ZIA for their efficiency and dedication, and Savage has been pushing us further than any of us had thought possible.

Normally the rest of us would be growling and hooting and pounding the tables, but when a guy walks up in front of us in a business suit it's hard to do the normal butch cop thing. When he steps behind the podium though the thing is so tall that you can only see the tips of his ears over the ZPD seal on the front. A few chuckles arise from the crowd, when Agent Savage makes a light thumping sound and climbs up onto a stool. He scans the crowd with those steely blue eyes of his, and everyone falls silent.

“Good morning,” says Agent Savage. Even though he's got this sharp, clear voice like a glass being struck with a spoon everyone leans in a bit closer to _really_ listen. “Congratulations on making the cut. It's been a difficult process, having to choose only fifty officers from so many fine candidates. And in many cases it came down to hair-thin margins on who we selected.”

Strange how a mammal so small and... well, _cute_ , can seem so imposing. I wonder how long he'd had to work at his job before he was taken seriously. Honestly, if it weren't for his reputation (and the fact that we've been working with our own respected bunny officer for all this time) he might've been laughed off the stage the moment he opened his tiny mouth. Even I can't help but feel the urge to pat him on the head.

“Now it must be emphasized, the ZIA does things differently, and while you're serving on this task force you _will_ need to adjust. I realize that the ZPD is used to an open network and free-flowing communication. I'm also sure that you're all a little confused as to the need for all these security measures. But please understand, information will be given on a need to know basis only. And in turn, _anything_ relating to your duties and any information we _do_ give you will be considered classified. Those who leak any details on this matter will be subject to disciplinary measures and possible dismissal.”

He gives a faint smile, as if to take the sting out of what he'd just said, before he continues.

“Now we all know why we're here. We've got a drug epidemic on our paws, one that's threatening to tear this city apart. Even though predators make up only ten percent of Zootopia's population, our last estimate indicates they constitute as much as thirty percent of known Blue users. As a result violent crime is on the upswing, and at least _three_ Blue-related maulings have occurred in the last month alone.”

The lights turn off, and the screen behind Savage lowers. The ceiling projector puts an image of a hornless white ram on the wall. It's an old family photo, with the faces of his relatives blurred out. He's wearing a green wool sweater and is smiling at the camera. “Let me introduce you to Doug Schaffer: PhD in biochemistry, with a postdoc in botanical pharmacology. Co-founder of a failed biotech startup and an accomplished skeet shooter. Our sources indicate that he's the one who designed he original Night Howler serum, and adapted the formula to make Blue.”

Savage raises a small controller and gives it a click. The photo of Doug is replaced by two old CCTV stills side by side: one of a black ram with long curved horns standing in line at a Barn Burger, and the other a plump white ram with smaller horns wearing an eyepatch and a faded t-shirt. “He has two associates: Woolter Albinus, and Jesse Lyserod. But the situation has become much more complicated than three drug-dealing sheep. Our very own Lenny Packard- stand up, Lenny...”

A gray wolf stands up from the front row and gives a wave. He wears a white labcoat and a shoots a sleazy grin over the crowd.

“Lenny here,” Savage continues, “Is our resident forensics expert. He's got a PhD in chemistry, with postdoctorates in spectroscopic and olfactory analysis. He's also perpetually single, and with good reason.”

The crowd chuckles and several officers nudge one another in amusement. The females in the group in particular snicker to each other, though a few look particularly ashamed for some reason. Lenny for his part just gives an embarrassed grin and shrugs before sitting down.

“Now, Lenny's analysis of the Blue samples we recovered indicates that there are now three different formulations of it in circulation. Each one is unique due to different ratios of bioactive compounds. Two of the lower-grade Blue formulations are also identified by different contaminants. This suggests that there are now three distinct manufacturers. While we don't have hard evidence to prove it, we are currently operating under the belief that Doug, Woolter, and Jesse have split ways and are now working on independent operations.”

I glance down at Nick and Judy sitting beside me. Judy in particular looks worried. She's shaking her head, and she's got a paw to her mouth like she's trying to make sense of it all. Nick is scowling. After the whole Daywood situation and nearly getting killed by a sheep who thought he was a Blue user, it's no surprise that he'd be particularly bitter about the drug epidemic.

Shit. The assumption was that with it being linked to the Night Howler epidemic and the Lone Digger, Blue would be falling out of fashion. Some mammals are just idiots, I guess, and will try any new shit they come across that'd get them high.

“Our job is to crack down on this epidemic. You've already seen on the notice board that you've been split into teams of three or four. Teams will be reporting directly to me or Elkredge. Now, pick up your assignments.”

I stand up and walk towards the podium, and as Savage passes out the folders he looks up again and speaks as if it's just an afterthought:

“Oh, and in addition: be wary. Displacement of nip as the illicit drug of choice has caused a ripple effect in the criminal underground. Mob violence may be on the rise, so tread carefully with certain mammals of interest.”

I freeze mid-step when Savage says that. He'd done it so coyly, like it was an offpaw concern we didn't need to worry about. But none of the others had the remaining puzzle pieces. Tarquin Vash. Mr. Big going into hiding. As if the Blue epidemic weren't enough, something big _is_ going down.

And the ZIA made it clear that they were keeping the details to themselves.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

I can smell him through the door.

Entering my office, I stare calmly at the moose standing over my desk. He looks to be in his fifties, with old, tired eyes that have seen too much. ZIA, clearly, from the plain black suit and black tie. It's an outfit so formal and brazen in its attempt to be inconspicuous that it stands out like a sore thumb. The heavy stink of cigarette smoke surrounds him, masking much of his natural scent. I can't even get a bearing on his emotions by smell.

My eyes flick down to my desk, where several of my patient files have been scattered.

“I am afraid I must insist on searching you,” I say smoothly, placing my takeout box on the tea cupboard beside the door. “And I will be confiscating any cameras and recording devices I find. I will not have my patients' privacy violated.”

He doesn't even look embarrassed when I stride over and take the open folder he's been reading through. I glance at the tag.

Nicholas P. Wilde.

“Hmm. I probably should've gotten Skye to stay on lookout,” he huffs, “Must be getting old.”

“Age makes fools of us all,” I say, tilting my head. He knew of my usual lunch schedule, but not that I was working on a new paper and had decided to eat at my desk today. “Agent Miles Elkredge, isn't it? Are you here of your own accord or did Agent Savage send you?”

“Doing a favor for him. This Nicholas Wilde character seems to have sparked some interest with him. Can't see why, small-time hustler like this.”

I hadn't expected an outright answer, not from the ZIA.

Very clever though, sending this one. Clearly he'd been chosen because Agent Savage knew my most recent patient today was also a heavy smoker. Perhaps he'd hoped that with Elkredge's own personal habit I wouldn't be able to distinguish his intrusion from my preceding appointment.

“If I may ask, how long have I been under observation?”

“Long enough to know about you and your parlor trick,” Elkredge taps his large, round nose for emphasis. “Interesting, that you'd accept a smoker as a patient. Must be harder to read him by scent.”

Indeed, normally I wouldn't take such a case, but no other therapist had been able to resolve Harold's intense anxiety issues. While I dislike dealing with smokers, a colleague had pressed him upon me and I felt it difficult to refuse.

“Am I under investigation?”

“Should you be?” Elkredge asks, glancing at my plastic takeout container. “Beetroot salad? I've never met a vegetarian wolf before.”

“I have an intense allergy to insect chitin. And I never much cared for fish.”

“I thought you wolves were obligate carnivores.”

“I take supplements. And enjoy the occasional indulgence of chicken.”

“Hrmph. No wonder you're so scrawny.”

I decide to ignore his brusque attitude. This aside is neither here no there. “Back to the matter at paw... the ZIA has no right to breach doctor-patient confidentiality. Now will you permit me to search you? I will of course be making a call to Director Seraphine, and the Mayor if necessary. How vociferous my complaints will be shall depend on your compliance here.”

Elkredge doesn't respond. He just meets my gaze with a flat, almost bored stare, while feeling his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. It appears to be a nervous tick.

“I sat in on the lectures you gave at the ZIA, you know. Interesting stuff, your ideas on instincts and neuroscience. You have a certain... air about you when you speak publicly. Some distinctive verbal mannerisms.”

It's difficult to pick it up but it's there, beneath the pungent odor of burnt tobacco. A sharp, almost prickling scent of ketones and aldehydes that indicates aggression. If it were anything else perhaps I wouldn't have noticed, but growing up in a wolf pack has left me quite familiar with it.

“You know, before I got this job I worked homicide at the ZPD,” Elkredge continues, “Specialized in criminal profiling, saw some real nasty shit. But it wasn't the bodies that got to me. It was the psych reports. The life histories of those fucking murderers. Read enough of 'em, and you begin to notice certain patterns.”

I raise an eyebrow, and reach into my pocket for my phone. “If you are not interested in complying...”

I don't expect him to make a grab for the folder, but I tuck it in the crook of my arm anyway as I unlock my phone and look for Director Seraphine's contact information. She's asked for my consult many times over the years. We have a most cordial professional relationship.

“Dr. Conall... I'm sure you know of the Hare test?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me, how high do you score on it?”

My paw freezes over my phone, just as I'm about to press the call button. I can only stand there silently, pondering how to extricate myself from this thread of conversation.

“You're a psychopath, aren't you?” says Elkredge.

My eyes slowly roll up to meet his. He still looks so weary, as if he's gazed out for too long at the stretch of years he has left before he can retire.

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Mmm. Let me clarify, then,” Elkredge finally takes out his box of cigarettes, placing one of them in his mouth. He holds it there while he continues to speak. “I'm not talking about your comic book crazies who dress up as clowns to go on killing sprees. I'm talking about the actual psychological definition. Flat affect, muted emotions, a brute sense of practicality, and perhaps most iconic... an inability to feel guilt.”

I tilt my head. “Many psychopaths nonetheless are contributing members of society. You would be surprised how many business leaders and executives exhibit the trait to some degree.”

“And doctors? Empathy is supposed to be one of the central skills of the career isn't it? But not for you. The best you can manage is an empty ritual to mimic it,” Elkredge nods towards my tea cupboard. “You _act_ like you care for your patients, but you do it by some formulaic rote that you've worked out in your head over the years. Problem is you never really _feel_ what it's like to have a connection with anyone else, do you?”

He steps closer now, so he can loom over me. As if I can feel threatened by a mammal's size. “So tell me, what would happen to your career if I let slip what you are? Or if I looked even further into your background?”

For a while I stare up at him. I gaze into those tired eyes, with the stink of tobacco smoke filling my nostrils. The end of the cigarette bobs up and down as he works his mouth, as if to taunt me.

Putting my phone away I hold out the folder containing my notes for Nick Wilde. Elkredge accepts it silently. He's right. I feel no guilt doing this whatsoever.

“I would appreciate it if you enjoyed that outside,” I say as I turn around and pick up my salad. There is a park a block from here that is quite lovely. I'll be able to savor my lunch there.

With my paw on the doorknob though, I turn to him one last time. “Tell me, Agent Elkredge... how high do _you_ score on the Hare psychopathy test?”

He chuckles, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and tucking it behind his ear. “Same as any other ZIA agent. High enough to qualify for the job.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 6 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Okay some news: I NEED A BETA READER. Preferably someone who is skeptical but somewhat open-minded of where this plot is going. Yes, if you have written complaints as to my approach in the comments I am VERY interested in you in particular, because I highly value constructive criticism. Especially if you have strong views as to the in-character nature of Nick and Judy. You also must be able to handle scenes involving adult situations and violence. Beta readers will get access to chapters in advance, but the chapters may be a bit less polished. If you're enjoying the story very much already though, thanks and enjoy the ride! Contact me on my tumblr (silverstripeszoot.tumblr.com)
> 
> Okay, so even though he's a minor character, I really loved writing this section for Tarquin Vash. He really represents the much prissier side of me though I'm not nearly so snappish with others. Plus, the mental image of a once-dignified fox lawyer cramming blueberries in his mouth going OM NOM NOM as he's being dragged away by the scruff of his neck was just too delightful.
> 
> And yes, Benjy is a sweetheart. He's basically had to be the responsible one his entire life, which is why he can be a bit stiff. He's a stickler for protocol and he likes order, though ironically he's a bit of a slob at home. Danny's the one who has to pick up after him and make sure all the laundry is folded and the dishes are done. He also ended up being the one more experienced with cooking between the two Kaplan twins, because working with a stove requires a load more responsibility and caution than doing dishes.
> 
> Doc Conall is another fun OC to write. You might notice if you refer back to the first story, "It's A Fox Thing," that Conall has a stiff formality and a preternatural calm. Thing is, there are more layers to him than readers may expect and I really enjoyed finally being able to do a little reveal here.
> 
> And as usual: please like, subscribe, and comment if you're so inclined! I live off of comments, they are fuel for me to keep pushing.


	7. Jack's New Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack keeps the choiciest ZPD officers for himself.

_**Sebastian Dusk** _

 

I love my job.

“ _Oh Sebastian, you could've been so much more_ ,” my old mother would be saying to me. “ _You could've been a doctor!_ ” And indeed, with two years of medical school under my belt I might've indeed become a successful physician if the vicissitudes of life hadn't swept me in an entirely different direction. Yet the skills I'd acquired through my long years of education and training are still useful now. The calm, soothing, and authoritative demeanor that they call bedside manner for example has been repurposed for diplomacy. And I am an _excellent_ diplomat.

“So. Jesse Lyserod, is it?” I say brightly to the ram bound to the stout metal chair. With Jacob working over the new recruits I'd been given Mr. Smythe and five other Praetors for this mission. In truth five Praetors had been overkill... Smythe had slipped in silent as a shadow and tranquilized every single ram in the warehouse before they could sound the alarm. The remaining Praetors had been given the undignified duty of moving and chaining up the unconscious bodies, and now they're on lookout duty. Once we have our subordinates properly trained they can get back to more satisfying tasks.

“W-we've got three guys making deliveries...” the ram whimpers. “If... if they call us and we don't answer, they'll know something went wrong! You'll all be fucked if that happens!”

“Oh Mr. Lyserod, I'm trying to establish a professional relationship here,” I say sweetly. “And that must begin with honesty. We've had your little grow-op on stakeout for weeks now, and we know that you only have thirteen workers in total.”

Those horizontally-slitted eyes widen in horror.

“I must congratulate you,” I say with a cheerful warmth, “this is an excellent location for your Blue lab. Here in the basement, no one up top can hear you sheep brewing your narcotics. More importantly, no one can hear anything else that will be going on down here.”

“Is... is it the Blue you want? The money?! You can have it!!!” Lyserod bleats, squirming in his bonds.

I click my tongue. “No no no... you are so kind to offer it freely, but no. The Prince has no interest in Blue. Granted, he does have a fondness for botany, but Night Howlers lack the sweet scents and varied colorations that his rose garden has.”

I unlock the small black case, and my fingers dance over the textured handles of my implements. Scalpels and probes, clamps and needles... I'd once considered cosmetic surgery as a specialty. But this serves me just as well. While I'm far from the best fighter among the Praetors, I do have my education.

A solid foundation in anatomy has many uses.

“Now, let us start a dialogue,” I say, slipping on a pair of latex gloves that reach halfway to my elbows. It wouldn't do to stain my lovely snow-white fur. “If you're unable to tell me what I want to know, I will simply have a conversation with one of your associates.”

I select a scalpel and a corkscrew-shaped probe. “And if he has no answers, I shall move on to the next, and the next. And if I still do not have my answers, well... you'll have recovered enough to speak to me again. This will continue until I finally get what I'm looking for. And it will continue even longer than that, until I believe what you have to say.”

My tools aren't the only thing I have on paw of course. It's a drug lab, and that means I have plenty to work with. Solvents, torches, a few lamps I can take apart for the wiring. Even the packs of salt from their Barn Burger bags will be useful. A professional physician would be restrained by all those cumbersome ethics rules. Me though... I have the freedom to be creative.

“ _You could've been so much more_ ,” my mother's voice echoes in my head once again. Well, I have no need to listen to her now. She's long dead and buried. As for me?

I'm still smiling.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I munch on my beetroot salad as I read through the profile on Doug Schaffer. I already know most of the details here of course. The moment Bellwether was captured the ZPD had tried to get all the info we could on him and his associates. With only the first names to work off of it'd been a while before we could ID the trio that're under investigation now. We had some personal histories put together from public records and interviews of friends and family, but it was pretty limited. Here though the ZIA had apparently gotten access to their personal accounts: emails, bank statements, even the books they checked out from the library in the past two years.

I never took Nick as being particularly studious when it comes to paperwork, but right now he's poking his mushroom carbonara as he reads his file on Woolter Albinus. As always Benjy has a box of curry he made himself: a green lemongrass curry, which makes me kinda wish I'd taken him on his offer for a box of my own. After getting used to the heat I found that I really love green curry. It's just so yummy and herbaceous.

He scoops up a big mouthful of curry and jasmine rice as he flips through the file on Jesse Lyserod.

Nick's been in a mood ever since we learned that we'd be working directly with Jack. I mean- Agent Savage. I probably should get a little less familiar with him. Nick isn't the type to get angry, but I'd be lying to myself if I say I'm not worried about him being jealous. He'd spent the night over again, and he'd exhausted himself with me in the sheets, like he had something to prove. Even when we fell asleep with me in his arms he held me more tightly than usual.

I mean okay, it actually _is_ kind of nice that he can get so passionate, but he really needs to trust me. Sure J- Agent Savage is really handsome and he carries himself well. And he's a bunny in what's traditionally a big mammal's field, so we got that in common. But I'm just not interested in him that way!

Benjy's been pretty quiet, too. Well, quieter than usual. It's getting all too clear that the ZIA is downplaying the weird organized crime activity that seems to be going on. Benjy's the type to play it straight: all this secrecy isn't something he's too comfortable with. Frankly, I'm starting to feel a little out of my element too. Even after meeting Mr. Big I hadn't known the City had such a seedy underbelly to it.

Benjy must've seen the expression on my face, because he gives me that broad tiger smile of his as he raises his mug of masala chai. “Getting a little disenchanted, Judy?”

I shrug. “Not... well, maybe just a _teeeeeny_ bit. This kind of mobster stuff is definitely not on the brochures.”

“Trust me, Carrots. Every city as big as Zootopia has its crime bosses,” Nick says as he twirls a forkful of pasta.

“It's not like it is in the movies, either,” Benjy adds. “Sure they're a rough bunch, but they like a peaceful status quo as much as we do.”

“Well that's kind of the problem, isn't it?” Nick says. “Status quo used to be nip. I make it a policy to keep my tail out of mob wars.”

“Unless you've got a rug to sell,” I tease.

Nick clears his throat. “Yeah, well... I've been out of that game for a while now. That said, I'm not sure what we're doing with these,” he gives the profile in front of him a tap with a claw. “Fact is, if you _really_ wanna catch these guys you gotta know what's going on in the streets. Get to the dealers, work your way up to the distributors, and eventually you'll get to the guys manufacturing the stuff.”

“Won't work,” Benjy shakes his head. “You arrest the distributors first, the manufacturers get antsy and go deeper into hiding.”

“I'm not saying arrest 'em. I'm saying you _talk_ to 'em. There are ways to coax these guys into working with you if you know how.”

Benjy's eyes narrow. “And I'm guessing you know these guys?”

Benjy knows that I kinda stumbled into my relationship with Fru-Fru and her dad, so he gives me a pass. But Nick's connections are another thing entirely. He's never been completely comfortable with Nick knowing so many street thugs and lowlifes.

“I know everybody,” Nick shrugs. “Though getting them to work with you is another story.”

I snort. “Knowing you, half of your sleazier acquaintances probably want to bury you alive.”

“You know, I'd say that's an exaggeration, but I'm honestly not sure if it is or not,” Nick says as he looks off into the distance, like he's mulling it over. The scary part is I don't know if he's joking.

“Well, Nick's right about one thing,” Benjy says as he closes his folder. “We aren't gonna get any leads just from reading these profiles over and over again.”

We aren't going to get anything done just sitting here, either. While all the other teams were expanding their patrols outside of the city with ZIA drones and other neat tech, or figuring out ways to identify and detain suspicious shipments, the three of us were stuck in the Savanna Central headquarters awaiting further orders.

At first it'd been exciting, knowing that Jack had picked us out to work directly with him. Now though everyone else is on patrol and searching for leads, while the three of us are just sitting around in the cafeteria, going over files. I'm tensing to keep from thumping, I'm feeling so antsy, but when that starts to fail I reach out with my foot to hook my leg around the table leg or something, when instead I nudge up against something soft and warm.

Nick perks up, and he smiles at me over his coffee. My cheeks are feeling warm now... we've been trying so hard to keep our relationship hidden at work. Or failing that we could at least be low-key, if only to keep the other mammals on the force from commenting on it.

And then I feel it, a little nudge of his toes along my shin, working up along the inner curve of my leg. Nick's settling in like he's trying to adjust his weight, but his foot is quietly sliding up just a little higher, just teasing me. I'd kick him away, but I don't wanna cause any more commotion with Benjy sitting _right here next to us_.

And then Nick withdraws, sitting up straight again as he looks past me, murmuring out of the corner of his mouth, “Well, if it isn't Agent Stripes.”

“You _know_ us bunnies have great hearing, right?” I say, trying to keep it to a whisper. But my breathing's a little heavy right now, and I'm feeling flushed. If Nick wanted to mess around the least he could do was sneak us into a storage closet or something!

“Oh I'm hoping he heard,” Nick says as he shoots Agent Savage his lazy smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jack says politely, setting down his tray as he takes the seat across from me. He's got some salad greens and garlic bread, and his coffee cup bumps against Nick's as he sets it down. “How far are you into the profiles?'

My heart skips a beat. Each of us had only gotten through maybe half the file in total, and it's a pretty thick folder. It'd take us a couple days at least to get through the whole thing. Were we supposed to have read it _all_ by now? It hasn't even been three hours!

“Ah, at ease, Judy,” Savage says with a reassuring smile. “Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I thought you guys were slacking off. Just wanted to drop by and touch base, really.”

“You usually have lunch with your subordinates?” Nick asks. Even though his tone isn't rude, anyone who's known him long enough would notice the cold tension he's got towards Agent Savage right now.

“I have a light touch,” Agent Savage says with a relaxed smile.

“Is Agent Cerato all right?” Benjy asks, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I was hoping I could visit the hospital and apologize to him.”

“The best thing to do is probably to give him some space. Right now he's using the cover story that he was hit by a truck. It's just about the only time a doctor sees a rhino with a broken jaw.”

Benjy's ears flatten against his head a little. “Well... he _did_ say to give him everything I've got.”

“And y'know, we _did_ warn you guys that Benjy's a beast in the ring,” Nick smirks.

“I'll consider it a team-building exercise,” Jack says with a shrug. “It's certainly made the ZIA look at the ZPD in a whole new light. I'm pretty sure Director Seraphine is beginning to wonder what other gems are working in Bogo's ranks.”

Though Benjy's trying to hide it, I can see from here that his tail is twitching with the effort to stay still after that barely-hidden compliment.

“W-well... if you could perhaps pass on my apologies to him...”

Jack snorts. “If I know Cerato he'll just want to forget about the whole affair. Bad enough there were a dozen witnesses. It's a good lesson for him, learning not to underestimate other mammals just because they're smaller.” He gives me a look and a coy smile out of the corner of his eye then, and my heart does a little _lub-dub_ at that. Surely he must know from my training records that I've been able to take down a rhino too, though just the once.

“That said though,” Jack continues, “Now that I'm down an agent I hope you're worth two mammals both in and out of the ring.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Benjy says, sitting up straight and puffing his chest out a bit.

“So you got an assignment for us?” Nick says around a mouthful of carbonara, “Or you gonna leave your new 'gems' to sit on their butts the whole day?”

I give Nick's leg a firm nudge with my heel under the table.

“Y'know, Wilde...” says Jack, his smile not even flickering, “So long as it doesn't cross into insubordination, I _do_ appreciate a certain brute honesty in the mammals I choose to work for me. It's good to know exactly who they are deep down inside.”

“Well, I'll certainly give you all I've got in that respect,” Nick grins.

I put my face in my paws and stifle a groan.

“That said though,” Jack continues, “I plan on having you with me when I make my rounds. I know you three are more used to being in the middle of the action, but I think you'll find that my line of work has its own intrigues.”

Just then, Jack's phone buzzes in his pocket. Checking his message, Jack puts his phone away and gets up.

“Excuse me, looks like Agent Skye needs to have a word. I'll just take lunch in my office.”

With that, he gets up with his tray and his coffee and turns to leave.

“Oh Agent Savage?” Nick says in a syrupy sweet tone when he's two steps away.

Jack turns around slowly, looking at Nick out of the corner of his eye.

“I think you took my cup by mistake,” Nick says, nudging the coffee that Jack left behind.

Jack seems nonplussed. “Oh did I? Are you sure?”

“Yeeeeeeep,” says Nick, shooting the rabbit a lazy grin. I'm all too familiar with that look on his face. It's the same smirk he used to give me when he kept messing with me on the Night Howler case. “Us foxes have good memories.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Jack says. He puts down the cup he's holding and takes the one on the table instead.

The moment Jack's out of the cafeteria I give Nick a firm punch in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Nick rubs his arm. “ _Jeez_ your fists are like tiny little musket balls!”

“What was _that_ about!” I huff. “He's our supervisor now. You _could_ at least treat him that way!”

“Hey I gave him just about as much respect as I give Bogo.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the problem,” says Benjy, sipping his chai.

I rub my temples. Every time the two of them meet there's this horrible tension in the air. “I know you can at least _pretend_ to be polite to him, Nick. But you're making it so much more difficult right now. I mean, could you have _been_ any more obvious with how much you hate him? He chose us to work under him _directly_! Do you know how much of a privilege that is?”

“I'm just returning the favor,” Nick says, crossing his arms across his chest. “You haven't noticed the way he looks at _me_?”

“Wh- no!” I can't believe what I'm hearing. “Nick, this is _insane_! Do you think Jack would choose you for his task force if he hated you? He likes you just fine!”

“Oh, so it's back to calling Agent Stripes 'Jack' now, is it?”

“Wh... you... _ARRRGH!_ ”

Grabbing his tie I yank Nick's pointy head down. His big green eyes open so wide it's almost like they're about to pop out of his skull. I stare him down, muzzle-to-muzzle.

“Nick... I'm going to make my feelings _very_ clear on this... meet me in the supply closet. In five minutes.”

Stacking my empty cup and the used cutlery on my tray, I hop off my seat. Benjy for his part has taken a renewed interest in the criminal profile in front of him.

“And bring your Musk Mask,” I add quietly as I walk away.

Nick blinks in surprise for a moment, then his mouth spreads into a wide, relaxed grin.

“Sly bunny.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“Thanks for the escape route,” I say to Skye as I round the corner with tray in paw.

“Always have an exit strategy,” she says as she slides her phone back into her pocket. “You know, you're not making this easy. Do you plan to sleep with her?”

I chuckle. “What do you take me for?”

“Someone who's got the honeypot in his Secret Agent repertoire.”

“Yeah well...” I say, taking a sip of the coffee. I wish I'd gotten a nice hazelnut roast, but Wilde would've smelled the difference right away. There should be some creamer at my desk that'll help make this go down a bit easier. “I don't think I'll need to go _that_ far to get her to talk about him. It's in her nature to open up to another bunny.”

Skye looks down at the cup I've got in my paw. “The exchange didn't work, then?”

“He was able to catch it.”

“Told you he would,” Skye says with a little smile. “You'll just need to get your DNA sample elsewhere then. In the meantime, we have plenty to work with.”

“You read Conall's notes?” I'll have to thank Elkredge for that again. Hopefully the good doctor doesn't suspect someone broke into his office.

“Yes. Very detailed, and very dull. Fairly run-of-the-mill daddy issues. You'd make a great pair.”

“Oh god just the thought of it makes me gag.” It's no exaggeration either. I can almost feel the bile rising to my throat.

“Why? It wouldn't be your first time with a male. Or even the first time you...” her paw brushes the back of my head and glides down my spine, finger swirling at my tail. Good thing there's no one around to see us. “Well... you know what they say about what foxes are into...”

“Don't,” I say firmly. All humor and teasing is gone from my voice. “Never joke about that.”

Skye backs off then, paws held up apologetically. “Sorry, I didn't mean...”

I relax a little then, and begin to head off to my office. “It's fine. Just... you know that's a sore point with me.”

“Well, lube helps.”

“You never know when to quit, do you?”

Skye giggles. It's such a soft, musical sound. I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. “Well, that _is_ what you love about me. Why _did_ we ever break up?”

I sigh. “Well, not everything could survive Cairo.”

She tussles my head affectionately. “You really need to loosen up a bit, Jack. Tell you what. How about we meet in your office, five minutes?”

I grin. Has she ever known me to say no?

Just then my phone rings. Passing Skye my coffee to free my paw I pull out my cell. It's Elkredge.

“Anything to report, Miles?”

“ _There's been a warehouse fire, Jack_ ,” he says gravely. “ _Arson, clearly. But you'll want to see what the fire department found in the basement. Bring a forensics team. And a whole lot of body bags._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 7 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Slowing down to a slightly less cray-cray pace now that I'm settling into a slightly more relaxed rhythm.
> 
> While Judy definitely finds Jack stimulating, neither one of them is really interested in each other right now. I mean let's be honest, even if you're in a relationship you can be physically attracted to other people without having an emotional connection. That said however, Jack isn't above using seduction to get what he wants, and that's information on Nick.
> 
> I'm also really enjoying the description "tiny little musket balls" to describe Judy's fists. Especially since we know for a fact that she can punch the smug outta him.


	8. A Most Savory Aroma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, Nick, Judy, and Benjy check out the warehouse fire, and a big secret is uncovered.

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

Well, this isn't as awkward as I thought it'd be.

With me in the driver's seat and Agent Savage riding shotgun, Nick and Judy get to share the backseat. Even though we're all in the same self-contained space Nick and Savage aren't sniping at each other behind their passive-aggressive smiles like before. I can only wish that it's because they've settled down by now though.

No, the real reason for Nick's good behavior at least is that his mind is probably on... other things. I mean you don't have to be a wolf to smell that Judy's worked up. It's a faint aroma, but it's there: the warm sweetness that reminds me of a tigress' heat, just a hair “creamier” in aroma if that makes sense, like warm milk. I don't know what lewd protocol-breaking shit they were up to in that supply closet, but they clearly didn't get far when the call came in.

So if Nick's being quiet right now, it's because he's frustrated.

Don't worry about me, I'm used to babysitting a pair of horny beasts. Of course the fact that Nick and Judy aren't family makes it a little awkward, though you'd think the _opposite_ were the case. I'm just more accustomed to this shit from Danny, I guess. At least the two here are being mature about it. We've cracked open all the windows, and I'm hoping to GOD that Jack hasn't noticed. Bunnies have great hearing sure, but I don't think their sense of smell is quite as good as a pred's.

For example, I can smell the remnants of the fire long before we actually reach the site.

Cities have a certain scent to 'em. You'll _really_ notice it if you ever visit Meowmbai. Sure, Zootopia's cleaner, but the smell of a city still persists. Even though the air tastes different among the different districts of Zootopia there's a certain underlying consistency, and that's a certain _heat_ in the air. It's the smell of sun-baked concrete, of exhaust from all the cars. There's the smell of cigarette smoke and, when you're in the manufacturing blocks like we are now, the smell of grease and hot metal.

Now though there's the stink of smoke and char woven into the mix. It's such an outdoorsy smell to encounter in the middle of the city, like a campfire that'd just been put extinguished.

By the time we arrive the Fire Department is mopping up. Mammals in yellow jumpsuits and red hardhats are checking the gutted-out warehouse. Half was still intact, but the half that'd burned is blackened with char and soot, while the ground beneath is soaked. Gray water, coated with a thin and iridescent slick of oil, is still trickling down into the drains. The shimmering rainbow pattern dancing across the surface is probably the only part of the scene that is marginally pretty right now.

Agent Elkredge stands here waiting for us, and aside from him we're the first on the scene. He seems shaken, twitching and shuddering as he lights a fresh cigarette. Two other expended stubs lie at his hooves, most likely his.

“About damn time,” he says as we pull up. “Kaplan, you come in with me and Jack. We may need to do some heavy lifting. Wilde, Hopps...” he nods towards a building across the street, “Begin interviewing the locals. They may have seen something.”

“Yes, Agent Elkredge,” Judy says with her usual perkiness, and without another word she and Nick turn and head to the mechanic's shop that Elkredge indicated. Her tail's bobbing as she bounces off. She may have some stuff to work out of her system, but she's at least glad to be back in the field.

I step carefully along the damp concrete floor. It's still hot from the fire, but not much worse really than the sidewalk on a summer's day. And with the dampness the ground is kinda steamy against the pawpads of my feet. The lingering humidity and the woodsmoke scent makes the interior feel like a sauna.

With the structure of the staircase compromised, we borrow a stepladder from the firefighters to reach the basement. It's getting real pungent in here now, with the stink of blistered metal and burnt concrete, along with something foul and chemical. I grunt in disgust. Just breathing this shit is probably gonna double my chances of getting lung cancer.

As we get to the basement though there's something new in the air. Kinda pleasant, actually. It's a rich, greasy aroma, like a sizzling Bug Burga or a roasted chicken. It's the smell of a backyard cookout on a hot summer's day.

Despite myself my mouth begins to water, until Elkredge turns on the flashlight he'd carried down with him. That's when I see the bodies: the blackened skulls, the flesh burnt away until only a tarry residue clings to the bones. In total there's about a dozen sheep corpses down here. Where I'm used to seeing them plump and round with their layers of wool, now they're shrunken and skinny, just bare ribcages that I can probably wrap both paws around. Rows of flat grazer teeth, enamel cracked in the heat, grin blankly into the darkness of this tomb.

My stomach wrenches. A cold tightness grips my chest. The watery saliva that'd flooded into my mouth at the scent of cooked meat now tastes sour. Elkredge notices, and he points off to a corner. I scramble, clutching my muzzle, and planting both paws against the still-warm bricks I vomit noisily, staining the floor with my lunch. I don't think I'll ever be able to make green lemongrass curry ever again.

I'm shivering, eyes damp as I spit out the acrid residue clinging to the inside of my mouth. I'm gonna need a mint. Or something to brush my teeth with.

No. Come on, Benjy. You're tougher than this. You've been on the force for six years now, you've seen shit before.

“You gonna be all right?” says Agent Savage, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“Y-yes, sir,” I cough.

“Good.”

Agent Elkredge circles around one particular body that lies a few feet from the remains of a metal chair. Hunkering down he takes out a pen and begins prodding at the skull. There's a sickening crackling sound, of dried sinew creaking as he lifts the jaw a hair.

“Teeth missing on this one,” he says nonchalantly, “Must've been removed so we won't be able to ID him. Makes him one of our three sheep of interest, most likely.”

How the fuck can he sound so goddamn _calm_?

“He was alive when this happened,” Jack says, gazing at the trail between the twisted metal chair and the sheep's body. “Must've broken free of his bonds, tried to crawl away before he succumbed.”

“The Smiler's work?” Elkredge asks.

“Most likely,” says Savage. “Real question is what was he looking for?”

By now I'd recovered mostly and I've turned away from the bodies. Honestly, even though I've emptied my guts I don't trust being around those corpses. I'm not superstitious or anything, but it takes five days for the soul to reincarnate, and in the meantime a vengeful spirit can supposedly wreak some pretty nasty shit if they've been murdered. Cremation was supposed to help drive the process, but this probably doesn't count.

Fuck man, sounds like one of those creepy-ass questions a thirteen-year-old me would've asked the Clerics in Temple.

“Agent Savage?” I say with a cough. I've pulled out my cellphone and turned on the flashlight mode by now, and panning over the scene I've noticed the trays lining one side of the wall. “It... it doesn't look like whoever did this wants to manufacture. The sheep's grow-op was right here, and the arsonist left the bulbs.”

The soil in the trays hadn't been disturbed, and the shriveled remnants of Night Howler bulbs still rest where they'd been planted.

“Good observation, Kaplan,” Savage says. “Those things have been harder to come by ever since they were upgraded to a Class-A Botanical. Speaking of...” He turns to Elkredge now. “Anyone find any roses?”

“Would Frisk still leave that as his calling card?”

“You know he's one for tradition.”

I blink, turning to look at the pair. Me, Judy, and Nick... we were right. There was definitely something more going on here.

“Rose?” I ask. “Calling card? Who do you guys think did this?”

Jack Savage turns to me, and his gaze is placid and icy, like a winter pond. “Rufinius Varius Frisk. The one they call The Prince.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“Oi... so... so what's goin' on there?” the beaver asks. Mr. Woodruff's broad tail flops behind him. He glances up at me nervously. Good thing I've got my shades on, so he can't see me rolling my eyes. It doesn't get to me though. Thirty-three years of living under the label of 'trash mammal' numbs you to a lot of things.

“Warehouse fire. It's just standard protocol right now to do an investigation,” Judy says cheerfully. She's so in her element, being the helpful police officer. I'm glad she's as chipper as she is now. Me, I'm still horned up from having our little tryst interrupted. My mouth was on hers, and Judy was just slipping her paw beneath my shirt when we got a text from Agent Stripes telling us to gear up and get ready to roll out.

Yeah, when I said anticipation is the sharpest spice? I'm starting to feel my meat's getting a little overly seasoned.

“Do... do you think it might be arson?” Woodruff says, holding the cap in his paws and kneading it nervously. “Look, I'm just a good blue-collar mammal here, we never saw any trouble around these parts.”

“Really now?” I lean in, pulling my shades down just a hair. “It's actually been my experience that mammals in this line of work tend to see more than they might expect. I mean really, there's gotta be some word on chop shops, unauthorized vehicle modifications, the works. Industrial parks like these are rough neighborhoods, even for perfectly honest beavers.”

“Nick,” Judy gives me a gentle smack on the shoulder. Having gotten my Bad Cop bit in I step back and let her take the reins. She's great at connecting with others, you just gotta apply a little extra pressure before they'll spill the beans. “Well, we don't know anything just yet. Who knows? Might just be some dumb kids and a prank gone too far.”

Nice cover.

“There's... there's been word. We heard some of the firefighters mentioning bodies?”

Damn.

Judy's staring at him now, and she glances up at me, trying to think of a way to calm this guy down.

“Look, I can't comment on that,” she continues. “All I can do right now is my job, and that's trying to get any sort of information that might be helpful. Have you seen anything recently that might be relevant? Any activity in that warehouse you may have noticed?”

Woodruff glances up at me then. “W-well... there's definitely been some odd goings-on there. The warehouse has been abandoned for years, but stuff's been happening these past couple months. And when I was locking up last night, maybe eight-ish? Think I heard something outside in the alley, but I just thought it was a stray bird. I'll have Micky show Mr. Fox here the security footage.”

I rub my nose. Hopefully the back office would have an air filter or something. All the smoke and the smell of grease and oil is kinda getting to me. Besides, this guy would probably interview better if it were just him and Judy.

Sadly, the only thing in the cramped little room is a desk fan. I take the chair, rickety as it is, as Micky helps me log in to the computer before he leaves. It's an antiquated model, probably going on eight years old at this point and behind by about three operating system upgrades. Even just a basic double-click takes a good long while to process. I end up taking out my phone and start browsing some Ewetube vids with one paw while I work the mouse in the other. One and a half videos of fuzzy caterpillars eating very tiny leaf sandwiches later, and I finally have the security footage pulled up.

The videos are segmented by hours, so I go by what the beaver had said and open up the file starting at eight o'clock, though chances are I'd have to skip back to the preceding hour to check that too.

The security footage just shows the side entrance to the repair shop, with a fence on one end and a trash can next to the door. It's a pretty well-lit area too, with the street lamp overhead. I've already got a flash drive plugged in and I'm grabbing copies of everything from the past two weeks. By the look of it the thing is gonna take half an hour to get the gig's worth of grainy low-quality video.

I start lazily pressing the skip button, jumping the video ahead in thirty-second increments. Luckily, with the video fully buffered the skip button works pretty much instantaneously. Frankly, I'm not expecting to find anything, because what kinda criminal is gonna use such a visible entrance, especially with a security cam in view? But hey, I'm on the clock, and I don't really have any excuse to check out more caterpillar videos at the mo.

8:01, nothing.

8:05, nothing.

8:08, nothing.

Yet when I skip ten minutes in, all of a sudden a figure pops into view, standing directly beneath the camera.

 _Whoa!_ I almost let out a yelp, and even recoil in my seat a bit. My fur's standing on end, and there's a warm tingle that's only just beginning to recede running down my spine. Jeez, just like those old jump-scare videos back in the day.

Shaking my head and letting out a snort, I skip backward ten seconds. There, he's gone. I let it continue playing.

A slim male fox walks up to the door. He's wearing a well-tailored suit and tie, though with the angle of the camera I can only see the top of his head. The quality is grainy, and it's all in black-and-white, but it's obvious that the guy is a red fox judging from his height and the shading of his headfur. I squint, leaning in closer, but it's not like it helps. Can this actually be someone involved in the drug ring? Or the fire?

The latter didn't seem quite so plausible. After all, this was last night, and the fire had just been put out half an hour ago. But there's something conspicuously suspicious about this tod, the way he's just standing here staring at the door. He's not moving, not even trying to get in. And staying right beneath the light and in view of a very visible camera, like he wants to be seen.

And then he looks up.

My heart freezes in my chest. A large, cold fist seems to have clenched every organ inside my body and started to squeeze. There's a sharp, agonizing pressure building up inside me, and I'm having trouble breathing. Yet at the same time the bile is sour and bitter at the back of my throat, and I feel the need to vomit. Those cold, emotionless eyes stare straight at me, as if the fox could see me through the camera lens.

When I can speak again, it's in a strangled whisper.

“ _Dad?_ ”

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA FILE OMR-6648.02** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **SOURCE:** _conspiracy.zoogs.net group, posted December 9, 20XX. User ID “Mellia89”_

 

**CONTENTS:**

 

_THE FIRST FAMILIES: ZOOTOPIA'S SECRET ARISTOCRACY_

 

We hold our proud nation's history as this: that we began as a benevolent gathering of mammals of all kinds, predator and prey alike making peace at the watering hole. NO. This is a LIE. This essay seeks to PROVE THIS.

In truth, from the beginnings of our culture, even before Zootopia had a NAME, we have been INFILTRATED and CONTROLLED by the insidious organizations that are often called the First Families.

No one knows how many there are. Estimates range from Five to Thirteen, but most hold that there were once Thirteen First Families. This is particularly notable, as 13 is the number of Black Disciples as mentioned in Scripture. Regardless, its members have been NUMEROUS and many are believed to be alive to THIS DAY. Indeed, it is not inconceivable also that the First Families' progenitors 500 years ago continue to exist in suspended animation due to access to alien technologies or dark rituals, or a Combination Thereof.

History dates the emergence of the First Families back to 1650, in which wealthy landowners and merchants formed the core of what would become known as Zootopia. And like a newborn planet continuing to accrete nearby materials, the ongoing economic opportunities led to a boomtown that would eventually grow into our modern-day City.

Proof lies in scattered documents which can still be found referencing their existence and activities, and several names have become known to us. Unfortunately, genealogical records of the First Families, along with many public records, were lost in the Great Fire of 1813 that demolished City Hall and destroyed the Sesalec's Library (1+8+1+3 = 13... COINCIDENCE?!). There is No Doubt that this was the work of the First Families attempting to recede back into the shadows where they can more comfortably control the political events of Zootopia, free from the restrictions of checks and balances of a true democratic republic.

Though identifying information is scant, we know that they have been involved in mind control and BRAINWASHING with a scattered assortment of crimes such as drug sales, money laundering, prostitution, mammalian trafficking, and assassination. With the great Psychic Network Failure in December of 1954 however (December = 12. And 12 + 1 + 9 + 5 + 4 = 31, obviously 13 in reverse. THERE, that PROVES it) the First Families' usual alliance fractured, and competition over control of their illicit activities resulted in a Cold War between these rival organizations.

Growing tensions can be seen in the spike in crime and civil unrest from the 1970s and onward. Luckily, with improvements in recordkeeping and archived newsreels, anyone can now walk into a local library and look into the matter. It is No Mere Coincidence that the spike in murders of prominent socialites, the spread of mind-altering drugs like LSD and high-grade Nip, crop circles, UFO sightings, and increased intervention in foreign wars occurred in such a short span of time. Though troubling, these anomalies are nonetheless the symptoms of a Cold War brewing beneath the glistening Overworld of the City.

By 1995, a second and sudden reemergence of criminal violence occurred. This time rather than spanning two decades, the string of murders and unusual “accidents” happened over the span of a Single Year. This heated and final stage of what is now known as the Blood Wars claimed the lives of high-profile figures numbering in the dozens (not least of which was the loss of famous and beloved pop singer GiGi Winklebottom). Indeed, several of the First Families may have been outright eliminated, and many may have moved operations out of the city, hoping to return one day to reclaim what they believe to be their Rightful Place.

Overall, for the Four Centuries since Zootopia's official Founding, the First Families have exerted a high level of indirect control over our society. These aristocrats living in the shadows have made every effort to conceal their existence while acting as the puppetmasters of the City, forcing City Council members and perhaps even the Mayor himself to dance to their sinister tune.

One need look no further than the odd occurrences of the past year. The Night Howler epidemic: the result of a long-standing feud between rival First Families and an unholy perversion of the Lion and Lamb of scripture? The simultaneous attacks on Jared Shepsfield and Dawn Bellwether: retaliation from the Lion? Or is it a counterstroke from the Fox slipping out from his den? The sudden DISCONTINUATION of Firefly Sauce in the Bug Burga chain: chemical experiments on our populace from Chomper Foods (KNOWN to be affiliated with the Wolf) gone awry?

No one knows. YET. But the truth begins with YOU.

 

_____

 

 _Addendum 1 (March 15, 20XX):_ Firefly Sauce? Is whoever marked this for archiving fucking mental? This is absolutely ridiculous. I'm formally issuing a request to have this file declassified and to have the subject removed from the watchlist. Monitoring this crazy badger has been a complete waste of my time and ZIA resources. No one is going to believe this nonsense anyway. ~Agent Brayer (ID# 172)

 

 _Addendum 2 (March 18, 20XX):_ With the replacement of Agent Brayer (ID# 172) with Agent Garoul (ID# 122) on this matter, the declassification request for this file has been rescinded. ~The Director

 

 _Addendum 3 (April 11, 20XX):_ [REDACTED]

 

 _Addendum 4 (April 14, 20XX):_ I will repeat: Agent Brayer's death has been ruled an accident. We all know he has a history of being ridiculously negligent while cleaning his gun, especially when it comes to checking the chamber for an unspent round. This is the last I want to hear on this matter. Agents persisting with further inquiries will face immediate termination. ~The Director

 

 _Addendum 5 (April 15, 20XX):_ Yes, everyone: the files on Firefly Sauce have been upgraded to Security Clearance 5. So stop asking. ~The Director

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 8 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Poor Benjy. He's big and tough as they come, but the ZPD has NOT seen this sort of shit before. Zootopia's an incredibly peaceful city normally. If Jack and Elkredge seem a little callous here though, it's not because they're bad mammals really. It's more because they're really focused on the job.
> 
> Also, I realize at least ONE person called the reveal in this chapter from the epilogue of "It's A Fox Thing." Congrats to you, you clever beast.
> 
> Expect to see more ZIA files too. Don't let the Director catch you reading them though. Things will get messy for you if she does.
> 
> (Firefly Sauce from Pack Street, used w/o permission)


	9. Benjy Has A Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gazelle's glitter tiggers do a photo shoot for their hot new album cover, and Danny and Luke find there's trouble at home.

_**Danny Kaplan** _

 

"Gazelle, if you could relax a little..."

"I'm sorry, Howard," she says gently. "I thought I was comfortable doing this, but..."

She shifts uncomfortably on the throne of gilded antlers. This photo shoot's taking longer than anyone had expected. Though photo shoots always do... which, oddly enough, means we should've expected.

When the idea was pitched to her weeks ago we'd all been on board. At the time it was probably going to be the sexiest album cover of the year, with just a little tasteful kink added in.

"I just feel like this is sending the wrong message," she protests.

We're piled together, me and Luke and Bruno and Khan, each wearing only a silken loincloth and a multitude of gold-plated armbands and bracelets for that exotic Tigrian harem-cat look. We'd helped each other slather on the baby oil to fake that fresh-out-of-the-pool shine, but the makeup artists had dusted the glitter on to get things shimmering in a nice, balanced pattern.

We're posed laying in a pile of orange and black stripes on the marble floor, each wearing a black iron collar with the chains clasped in Gazelle's hoof. Khan is sitting up with his back to the camera, though he turns to gaze over his shoulder with that smoky "come hither" face of his. Luke's got his head in Khan's lap, sprawled on the floor like he's a big sexy puddle of feline. Bruno is lying on his belly, head up with his chin on one wrist. Me, I'm on top of Bruno like I'm mounting him. His tail had snaked up along my chest and is curled lightly around my neck.

I gotta credit Bruno. He's the only heterosexual in our crew, but even with my erection pressing up against his rump he doesn't complain. I feel kinda bad about that, but I've already preemptively apologized for all the hard-ons I would be sporting posing with him. He always does this to me... it's one thing to be straight in this line of work, but Bruno had to be a total cherry too. When it came to male-on-male stuff at least, and that's totally my thing.

Now you might be asking why it's me, Danny, the manwhore of the bunch, who's paired up with a straight cat like Bruno right now. Or why I'm not the one who's got his head on Khan's lap. Well, Khan's got his own issues I don't want to inflame any further, and me and Luke just can't be paired up. We've been dating for two years, and the on-camera chemistry between us is just _too_ good. The fans need to think our bedroom eyes are for _them_ , not each other.

Frankly I love this setup. The idea of being portrayed as a harem-cat is a huge turn-on for me. But despite our assurances that we were totally cool with the theme of the shoot, Gazelle's been growing increasingly concerned. After the whole Night Howler incident, and the whole Blue epidemic that's going on, she's started to worry that the cover made it look like tigers _needed_ to be collared. That as preds, we needed to be tamed and kept on a short leash. Just doesn't seem too PC in her eyes.

She's very protective sometimes. Like a mom.

"Look, how about we fix it in post?" says Byron, the director. "We'll Photoshop the chains and collars to make them golden and decorative instead. Like they're prizes."

"I suppose..." Gazelle says hesitantly.

The doe in charge of costumes pipes up. "Actually I think we have collars like that in storage."

"Can we also try some photos without the chains?" Gazelle adds in.

We try some of the alternate poses that Howard had planned, and a few more besides. The four of us have worked together long enough to have a good interpersonal flow going. I mean granted when we first met there'd been a certain amount of tension, trying to keep a respectful distance during practice and apologizing every time we accidentally touched. But now we've got a definite self-directing fluidity when the cameras are on.

I know it doesn't sound like it, but doing a photo shoot is draining. Even just standing around or sitting you gotta be aware of your body in ways you don't need to be when you're onstage. Dancing is mostly about muscle memory and reflexes. In fact, overthinking things when you're performing is the main cause of screwing up a set. Here though you seriously gotta focus. Tense the right muscles, relax the ones that need to be relaxed. Lift your chin another half-inch, turn this way and gaze at the camera. Smile a little more. No, less teeth. Move your paw a little. No, move it back. New outfit. New accessories. Change them back out for a different combination. Frankly it's a wonder I can sport a chub to nudge against Bruno at all.

When we finally finish Gazelle thanks us dearly, holding our paws and giving us each a kiss. She would've hugged us if it weren't for the baby oil in our fur. Which, along with the glitter, is a bitch to wash out.

Once we're in the showers I still can't make out with Luke the way I want to. Frankly without a bit of rest the most I can manage is a quickie, which don't get me wrong would be totally nice. But Bruno wouldn't like that, and Khan...

Well, Khan's just coming to grips with being bi.

It was rough working with Khan at first. He was fresh off the boat from the old country, emigrating to Zootopia because of the ongoing civil war. Frankly it was a big question mark why he'd become a backup dancer in the first place. He still wore the traditional clothes when he wasn't onstage, and he went to Temple every week. He even carried around a string of prayer beads and would start thumbing them at random.

He wouldn't throw a tantrum or anything, but he'd look legit uncomfortable whenever me and Luke made out. Then there'd been that time he'd walked in on us in the showers, with Luke pressed up against the tiled wall and moaning it out. We'd apologized profusely for that, but it'd been such a shock that he'd almost quit right then.

Look, Khan isn't some homophobic zealot. He keeps his religion strictly to himself, and he's probably the most non-jugmental religious guy I know. You just gotta understand that back in Tigria, the insurrectionists who took over his village would've buried him alive or hung a gasoline-soaked tire around his neck if they'd caught a whiff of him wanting to get tail with a male.

This was all just part of his new life, adjusting to Zootopia.

Which is why, as we dry ourselves off and are half-naked in the changing room, I'm surprised to feel Khan's paw on my shoulder. I mean okay, they're way more touchey back in Tigria, but here and now there's some sexual undertones to it, even if it's my naked shoulder.

"Danny?" Khan says to me in that thick accent of his. "I just wanted to thank you for exercising restraint when it came to you and Luke. I realize it is difficult for you to be so tactful around me, and I wanted to assure you it is no longer necessary."

I stare at him for a moment. "You're actually cool with our PDAs now?"

"Well, living in Zootopia these past couple of years... it has been some getting used to," he chuckles. Back in Tigria mammals of the same sex would commonly hug, pat shoulders and sit really close together, but the moment anyone starts to kiss or hold paws, even if it's guy-girl, onlookers would've been aghast. "I apologize that my presence has caused you inconvenience."

I blink. Well shit, son.

Once we're all back in our street clothes, we crowd around the lounge table with our big sushi platter and a bunch of mixed drinks. Gazelle's already helped herself to a single glass of champagne and some cucumber rolls.

"Hey guess what, Luke?" I say as I plop down next to him. "We can finally make out without any consequences!"

He must've overheard my conversation with Khan, because he doesn't have any questions. He just immediately yells out "SWEET!" and we start smooching right there. Not even romantically either, it's all exaggerated slobbering with our paws all over each other to the point that we nearly fall off the couch. Our tails are flicking through the air, and we start growling like we're tackling a Thanksgiving turkey.

Bruno laughs. "Oh god, no way that's how you guys do it!"

Gazelle is chuckling too now. She knows full well how we goof around when we get the chance.

"How would you know?" I pull away long enough to wink at Bruno. "Maybe you can show me how a straight guy does it?"

He grins nervously and scratches the back of his head, mildly embarrassed. God I love his cat-next-door attitude. It's fucking adorable.

"Hey Bruno," Luke pipes up, "If you could get your first gay kiss between me and Danny, who would it be?"

"Geez you, obviously," Bruno smirks. "I'm pretty sure you'd be less liable to tongue-fuck me to oblivion."

"I would choose Danny," Khan says. "He seems like he would know what he is doing."

"Oh honey," I bat a paw in his direction. "You don't know where I've been."

"Should I leave you boys alone?" Gazelle says with a small laugh. Despite all the rumors online, our after-parties aren't as exciting as the internet thinks. And no, Gazelle's not a predophile. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I know I've gone preyo on occasion.

I mean okay she wouldn't necessarily kick a tiger out of bed, but it's not really what she's actively looking for either. And on occasion she'll cuddle up with one of us when we're being friendly, but there's nothing salacious about it. Just fuzzy bodies sharing warmth.

That's when Luke picks himself back up and moves over to plop next to Bruno. The guy chuckles at first, then looks up at Luke owlishly. "Wait are we seriously doing this?"

"Only if you wanna..." Luke purrs, swirling a claw on Bruno's chest.

I settle in next to Khan, and he looks down at me, blushing faintly. It's still in joke territory at this point, but something in the atmosphere of the room changes, just slightly, and suddenly me and Khan are staring at each other.

"So... if you wanna..." I murmur.

"This would not be my first time kissing another male, you know."

"Well this wouldn't just be us as friends saying 'hello' either," I purr, leaning in closer.

The uncertainty is playing on his face. Maybe if we were in a more private setting: Khan has some pretty strict personal standards of modesty after all. I'm close enough that I can smell the traces of incense on his sleeveless coat... he must've gone to Temple earlier today. I know that many of our fans can't quite tell us apart, but there's something about Khan that's so exotic, so _native_ , and... in a weird way, so familiar too. I mean I did spend my childhood back in the old country, so...

His paw cups my cheek. Holy shit we really _are_ doing this.

My muzzle's on his. And even though I'm more experienced, somehow _he's_ the one taking charge. Well he's older after all, and there are customs and courtesies when it comes to age differences. I can't let him direct everything though, and so I slip my tongue into his maw. He takes in a sharp breath as we savor each other, velvet on velvet. His mouth tastes like black tea and cardamom.

By the time we pull away I'm sitting on his lap, and Khan is wide-eyed and sucking in a deep breath.

"W-wow..." he pants. "Do girls kiss like that too?"

"Oh come on!" I laugh, slapping his chest as I roll off his lap and sit next to him. "You've kissed a girl before!"

"I have not, I am afraid."

"I've seen you!" Bruno adds, "That panther that grabbed you at the bar that time! Jeez she was smokin'!"

He blinks. "I thought she was just greeting me."

"You know, in Zootopia kissing someone doesn't mean 'hello' like it does back home."

"Well I _did_ think it was strange..." Khan rubs his chin, glancing up at the ceiling and mulling it over. "I mean she was not even my cousin or anything..."

Luke and Bruno share a confused look. Yeah, they were born and raised here, so this is all foreign to them.

Luke's befuddlement turns into an eager grin then as he looks into Bruno's eyes. "Our turn?"

They last only four seconds when our resident straight cat puts his paw on Luke's chest and pushes him away, chuckling. "Sorry- sorry, man..." he huffs, "I'm really not feeling it."

"Seriously? No sparks? Nothing?" Luke's ears twitch.

Bruno shakes his head, and Luke scoots away with a grumpy frown. "We'll have to try another time then. It'll take eventually."

"After you get a few more drinks in me sure... no not tonight, man!" Bruno waves off the bucket of ice-cold beers Luke drags towards them from the table.

"Why don't you sit next to me, Bruno," Gazelle laughs, patting the spot on the chaise next to her. "You boys are leaving me all alone tonight!"

"Sure thing, G!"

Luke frowns as his failed smooch-partner bounces over. The kid is seriously smitten with Gazelle. I mean, who wouldn't be? But it's more like a student's crush on a teacher than anything. Cute and harmless.

So me and Khan and Luke settle in together just chatting while Bruno and Gazelle are snuggled up together watching something on her tablet. We talk about all sorts of stuff: current events in Tigria, politics, how Mayor Lionheart's doing. We're all big fans of Lionheart, obvi... dude's really doing right by promoting mammal's rights and better integration.

About two hours later we're all chatted out. The sushi is down to a few final pieces, and the ice in the beer bucket has melted down to a slush.

Bruno lets out a forlorn sigh as Gazelle slips out of his arms. Khan rises, passing over her purse as he wraps a paw around her shoulder. The guy is a total gent. Escorts her home every night we stay out late. He really is the big brother of the group.

"Hey Khan, if you ever want something more... well, you know who to call," I say as I pull on my sleeveless hoodie. He shoots me a nervous smile, but I suspect that within a week or two I'll be bringing him home.

We say our goodbyes, split off in the lobby, and set off into the night.

 

~~~~~

 

It's a pretty warm night, but Luke's brought a big thick zip-up hoodie. It's spread over my lap now while we're sitting on the train. We're cuddled up next to each other, and his paw is under the cloth, fondling me through my pants unbeknownst to the other passengers. Not that there are many this late at night, but it doesn't hurt to be courteous.

I give his paw a little nudge when he starts fiddling with the zipper. I'm not quite up for a pawy-J right now. Tonight I'm in a bottoming mood, and that means I'd prefer to nut it without being touched. It's still nice that he thinks of me though.

Me and Luke hit it off the moment we met. At first it'd just been a series of casual one-night stands, once we got to know each other well enough that it wouldn't be weird to work together while having a little yummy in the background. But little by little we got close as friends-with-benefits, and over time we realized we were in it for the long haul. There wasn't that deep, soulful, forged-by-fire connection or anything. We just liked each other a lot, to the point that we decided to move in together. If society wanted to call us boyfriends, sure, I'll roll with it. Frankly my brother was just glad that I brought home fewer strangers to our apartment once me and Luke hooked up.

On the walk back home and up towards our building, we're beginning to touch each other a little more. Not in the lewd way, I do have _some_ tact after all. We stroke each other's bellies, feel each other's chests. He rests his head on my shoulder and at the stop lights we pause for quick kisses.

By the time we're going down the hall to our apartment we're beginning to strip. The two of us are hot and flushed; we've waited for this moment for _hours_. My shirt's off, the tie at the front of my shorts is undone, and Luke is in a similar state of undress. I'm not even sure I can make it to our room before I get his dick in me.

When we get to our door though we hear a crash.

What the fuck?

Is it a fucking burglar? In _this_ building? Savanna Central is the safest place to live: you gotta check in with your keycard at the front of the building, the elevator, _and_ the apartment. Luke clutches my arm and looks up at me, stiff and afraid. I know the feeling. We're lovers, not fighters.

My mind races to think of what weapons we might use. There's a vase right at the front door, and some pots in the kitchen. Last thing we wanna do is get the knives out... I'm more liable to stab myself than get it inside an intruder. Shit, should we even fight? It sounds like there's a rhino in there.

The moment we swing open the door though, my heart freezes up.

Benjy's gone berserk.

A couple of the end tables have been overturned, and the door to our bedroom is open. I can see from where I'm standing that our dresser drawers have been yanked out, and our clothes are scattered all over the fucking floor. Benjy is tossing our room, and his eyes are wild, like he's about to murder someone. He's yanking out plastic bags of Luke's catnip, both the raw bud and the joints Luke had pre-rolled. Storming over to the bathroom Benjy starts tearing the bags open, dumping the contents into the toilet.

“What the _FUCK_ , Benjy?!” I snarl, racing over to grab his arm. He's bigger than me, but I've had to stand up to him before. Luke's just standing in the doorway, sweet little lamb that he is, staring at the both of us. He's scared.

“This has gotta be two pounds of nip here. _TWO POUNDS_!” Benjy roars, shaking me off so hard I that I stumble and my back cracks against the edge of the sink. That's gonna leave a bruise. “Who the fuck needs _TWO POUNDS_ of prescription catnip?!”

Our neighbors must be freaking out, calling the cops to report a domestic disturbance.

“That stuff's not yours!” I snap back, shoving him hard. Even though we're twins Benjy's got at least thirty more pounds of muscle on me, but I was not gonna be taking this bullshit. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“You think I won't collar him?! You think I won't haul your boyfriend's ass to Highwatch and throw his tail in the tank _RIGHT FUCKING NOW? WHO'S YOUR FUCKING DEALER?!_ ”

I grab the front of his uniform. He grabs my shirt. He's got the muscle and the training though, and he wrestles me into he bathtub.

Benjy doesn't hit me. He's never hit me. But close as he is now I can smell the alcohol on his breath and see the pure crazy in his baby blue eyes. Frankly, given how feral he's looking right now I wouldn't be surprised if he _does_ try smacking the shit out of me.

“B-bro... bro, stop!” I pant. My resolve from earlier is shaken. “You're drunk!”

“Benjy?” Luke says. His voice is gentle. “Benjy, please stop... he's your brother.”

Upon hearing that the rage starts to drain from Benjy's face, and I start to breathe a bit easier. I swear, the ZPD should've brought Luke in for crowd control during the whole Night Howler debacle. Luke's so mellow he probably could've talked down a savage pred on his own. Hell if he'd been darted himself he probably would've just curled up and licked his own balls all day.

Benjy's paws shake as he releases me, and his legs give out from under him. Dropping to the bathroom floor he falls back against the tiled wall, looking utterly shocked at what he'd just done. What he'd almost tried to do.

“Fuck...” Benjy pants... “Oh fuck...”

“It's all right, man...” Luke says, couching down next to Benjy... next to the tiger who, just thirty seconds ago, had threatened to throw his ass in prison. Luke pats my brother with a big, flat paw. Reaching out with the other he depresses the handle, flushing the toilet. A dozen mangled joints and at least four ounces of ruined bud go swirling down the drain.

“No... no it's _not_ all right...” I'm panting as I crawl out of the tub. “Now... maybe you can tell us what the fuck that was about?”

“Danny...” Luke says, looking up at me with a warning gaze. I realize he doesn't want me to antagonize my big bro any further, but when Luke doesn't stand up for himself it's my job to take the reins.

“Benjy,” I start again. “What. The fuck. Man.”

Benjy's just sitting, still stunned at the aftermath of his rage. But then he starts shivering, and Luke's just patting his back and trying to comfort him.

“Well... you're gonna hear it on the news anyway,” he begins. His eyes look haunted, and he's still just staring at the toilet. “There... there was a warehouse fire... thought it was just an accident at first. Maybe a simple case of arson. But it was a Blue lab. A dozen bodies, chained together, one had been tied to a steel chair. The forensics guys say they all had gasoline poured on 'em before someone lit the match. Most of 'em were probably alive when it happened. But it looks like it might be one of the sheep we've been looking for.”

“This doesn't explain why you ransacked our room. Or why you tossed Luke's nip.”

“Dude, it's fine...” Luke said again.

“No, it's _not_ fine! Quit saying it's fine!” I snap. Luke's ears flatten and he gives me a hurt look, but I growl and turn to my brother. “Look, you're a cop, you saw some scary shit tonight that I could never face. _I get it_. But you still don't have the right to...”

“First theory we've got right now...” Benjy sighs, “It's a mob hit. Turns out one of the big nip growers is some organized crime group. Big stuff the ZIA's been trying to pursue for years. If you haven't been getting it from a legal grower, chances are...”

I rub my eyes with one paw. “Benjy, we'd never... we don't get into that shit.”

“I know but it's just...” Benjy's head sags. “Just the thought of you guys passing money to...”

“We get it from a legal grower, man...” Luke says. “Licensed and everything. Real chill dude. He knows us so he passes us some extra under the table for, well... favors, y'know?”

Benjy covers his face with his paws, and he begins to curl up into a ball. “Fuck, man... fuck... I'm sorry, you guys...”

I sigh. Honestly, with Luke being so chillax and seeing Benjy all broken up like this, I can't stay mad at him either. Crouching down we get into the whole group-hug thing. It's actually kinda scary to hear Benjy start to snuffle. I never thought anything could shake him up like this. Fuck man... and I was worried about our nip stash?

“I'll pay for it, guys...” Benjy sniffs, looking up to the toilet again.

“Uh, do you know how much that much nip is worth?” says Luke.

Benjy groans, tucking his head between his knees. “Fuck. Tell me you guys aren't dealing on the side.”

“God bro will you just _relax_? What kinda cats do you take us for?”

“Seriously it's not a big deal,” says Luke. “I mean so long as I got enough to get me through the rest of the month I'm good.”

“Yeah speak for yourself,” I grumble.

“I'll pay for it...” Benjy murmurs again. “I'll help put your room back together too...”

“No you won't,” I sigh. “Dude, you don't even know how to fold my shirts properly.” It's always been that way with us: he cooks, I clean.

“Come on, let's get you to bed,” I say, and me and Luke stand, pull him up, and guide him to his room. “Damn dude how much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough...”

“Dude, there are better ways to forget about the shit you saw. Besides, last thing you need is to lose any more brain cells,” I say, trying to smile.

“Don't worry, Benjy... we'll take care of you,” Luke says quietly.

Benjy's drinking scares the shit out of me sometimes. There's just no such thing as moderation for him. Oh sure, he'll be responsible and play the designated driver. But the moment he doesn't have anyone to chaperone he'll lock himself in his room and guzzle a couple bottles of hard liquor on his own and black out. A couple times I've had to break in just to make sure he hasn't died in a puddle of his own vomit.

Until today he hasn't freaked out about anything he's seen at work before. He's seen his share of dead bodies: a couple shootouts, and even the fucking Lone Digger of all things, and none of that shit ever made him get any more wasted than he would normally.

Gramma knows a little something about this. She just doesn't know how bad it's gotten. Now and again she jokes that it's my fault he drinks on his own, because if he had a girlfriend he'd probably be more stable about this shit. And honestly, she's kinda right. I mean what kinda tiger would risk bringing a girlfriend to this apartment with the crap me and Luke get up to?

We help him get undressed, peeling off his uniform and getting him out of his briefs and his tank top. Benjy reaches for the bottle, but I snatch it outta his grasp. He looks at me, frowning, but Luke slips in just in time, interposing between me and him and pressing their mouths together.

At first my brother stands there stiff as a lamppost, but Luke works his magic. Despite Bruno's initial impression at the after party, Luke really is a fantastic kisser. Soon my brother and my boyfriend are wrapped around each other, claws griping fistfuls of flesh and fur, practically devouring each other as they slip onto the bed.

Shuffling out of my shorts, I kick them aside and slip in beside the two intertwined tigers.

The white fur around his maw had been stained a faint yellow from the last batch of curry he made. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and his mouth tastes of the anise seeds he chews to sweeten it, with lingering traces of oak and turmeric. His meaty paw clutches the back of my head, and he mashes his muzzle against mine in the desperate, slobbery kisses of a drunk tiger.

As much as I love Luke, there's a deeper connection that can be had than two mammals who've just fallen in love. And as much as Benjy might like to deny it most nights, there's something between us that we can never share with anyone else.

Yeah, I'll readily admit it's my fault that Benjy is as messed up as he is. He's always telling me to get my shit together, to be more responsible. If I'd just acted more like a proper adult he wouldn't have to watch me like a hawk all the time.

The fact is though, I'm being selfish.

I _could_ probably learn how to stay out of trouble, be more independent. But what'd happen then? Would he move out? Live on his own, even though we've stayed under one roof all our lives? Would he leave me and Luke to live by ourselves like he's doing us a favor?

Would I never again get to slip in and kiss Benjy like I'm doing now? Or straddle his waist, our tails braiding together like umbilical cords in the womb? I'd probably never get to feel his claws on my hips again, or grunt out his name as the bed creaks beneath us.

There's one question I've pondered about for a long time. If the Katmatist faith really did see male-on-male love as an abomination, like the Dharidi extremists believe, what would it say about me and Benjy, I wonder? It can't be all bad. On the contrary, isn't it a blessing for us to be together like this? Why else would we have been reincarnated side by side?

Two hours. Two hours of clawing at the sheets, sharp hisses, and heated moans. And finally, after spending himself on and inside us multiple times, Benjy's asleep. We've worked all the tension out of him, and now I'm spooned between him and Luke. My arm's wrapped around my big brother, while Luke is nuzzled up to me with one paw on my shoulder, purring happily. I reach back, resting my paw on his, while Benjy's breathing has finally settled into the soft rhythm of deep sleep.

Don't worry, big bro. You've always taken care of me. I'll take care of you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter 9 spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I'm a little worried that Gazelle's faded to the background a bit here, largely because I'm focusing on the dynamic between the tiger dancers rather than her. I see her character as being very loving and protective towards her tiger boys, which is why she's so hesitant about the collars here. The original idea from the designers/artists was that there'd be a sort of mild BDSM edge to the cover, but in the wake of the Blue epidemic Gazelle is VERY concerned about the negative message it might send. She's not being a diva when it comes to her uncertainty about the cover design at all.
> 
> Because the tiger dancers look just about identical in the movie, I also wanted to add more distinguishing personality characteristics to them. Khan and Danny (along with Benjy) emigrated to Zootopia from Tigria due to civil war and unrest in the region. Bruno and Luke however were born here and are much more removed from that heritage. They also don't have many strong links to Katmatist religion.
> 
> I also wanted to portray Khan as a much more positive example of someone who is devoutly religious and conservative. While I might not agree with these beliefs, I want something other than the trope of the obnoxious fundamentalist. He actually studies Katmatist theology a lot in his spare time. Danny on the other hand (paw?) was raised religious by his grandmother but fell away to be a bit more agnostic in many ways.
> 
> I should note the mental image I got from the design comes from a sketch that NicolasWildes did for Zistopia:
> 
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/261fe830c41698c65d770272297f40ca/tumblr_o4re10EMhu1vnkmepo1_500.jpg
> 
> which is in turn a reference to this cover:
> 
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/6a4c1d2e843bfd26f760498f9ae42162/tumblr_inline_o4rdvdpnIC1sl69q9_400.jpg
> 
> And of course Zistopia is 10000% a must-read for any Zootopia lover.
> 
> http://nicolaswildes.tumblr.com/tagged/Zistopia-AU/chrono
> 
> While Benjy is super disciplined at work and at the gym, I hinted earlier that the pressure of all the responsibility he has kinda gets to him, and on rare occasions like this one he just kind of breaks down. Poor Benjy.


	10. Marshmallow Bits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack chats with his agents at the bar, Nick takes an unexpected phone call. (Minor announcement in the notes)

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“Cognac, on the rocks.”

The weasel behind the counter leans in, gazing down her crooked nose at me. She's aggressively unattractive, with her snaggletoothed grin and knobby features. Must _really_ help her rake in the tips. A face like that would just encourage her customers to double down on the hard liquor.

At least she's clean and well-groomed.

“You know, if it's cognac y'want, I could make you a French 75. Nice and sweet, just like you bunnies like. Even got some carrot syrup I made fresh this morning.”

“I don't have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Well! Aren't you special, then?” she says with a snort as she pulls out a glass and scoops a few glistening ice cubes into it. “So what's eatin' that fluffy little ass of yers, cottontail?”

“The thirteen charred bodies I have sitting in the morgue.”

She blinks, almost filling my glass to the point of overflowing, before she catches herself and tips the bottle back. The bartender carefully slides my drink towards me.

“I... don't even know what to say to that,” the weasel says.

“Good.”

I take a sip. Stuff's from a young bottle: its floral and smoky aromas are wild as I breathe it in, yet to be tamed with age. But as I swallow I get something fruity beneath the burn, reminiscent of a grilled peach.

If she thinks I'm being a dick now, wait'll I get another three glasses of this stuff in me.

My ears turn back when I hear the footsteps. I don't need to look to recognize who it is. The first is a weighty presence, though the hard clop of his hooves is muted somewhat by the carpet. The mammal with him has a bit of a bounce in his step, like he still has some energy to work out of his system tonight.

“Can't you see I want to be alone?” I ask Elkredge as he takes the seat next to me.

“If you wanted to be alone you'd be sulking in your apartment.”

“Sometimes I really hate our relationship,” I mutter into my glass. Miles never could let lie any excuse I toss him to do things my way. “So any word?”

Lenny glances down at me. “Yeesh, Jack... you sure you wanna talk shop right now?”

“Hey Lenny,” the weasel says with a familiar grin. “Singapore Sling, right?”

Lenny barks a laugh. “You know me too well, Donna!”

“Oh _GOD_!” I moan, gesturing towards the weasel. “Don't tell me you've slept with _that!”_

“I'm standing _right here_ , cottontail,” Donna snorts as she starts mixing Lenny's drink. “Plus you'd be surprised how many wolves at this bar decide to try a little coyote ugly. Not that Lenny here would give me an old toss in the sack or anythin'. Don't think he's bendy enough to try gnawing his own dick off to get away in the morning.”

Lenny's slaps the countertop with his paw, cackling. I swear he's got some hyena in him or something.

“Cognac on the rocks,” says Elkredge.

“Another killjoy on ice, got it,” Donna says with a grin.

I polish off the last of my glass and gesture to Donna for a refill while she's at it. “So you find anything, Lenny?”

The smile slips a bit from Lenny's face. “At least lemme order something to eat first Hey Donna, the kitchen still open?”

“Always. You know we cater to the nocturnal crowd.”

“Smoked Grub Deluxe Burger then.”

“Lenny...” I say with an edge of impatience.

“All right, all right,” he huffs, “Jeez, Jack, you really gotta learn when to step away from the desk sometimes, y'know?”

Elkredge stands up and nods towards an empty booth. Giraffa's Grille might cater to the nocturnals, but at this time of night the crowd is pretty thin. I toss a fifty into an empty glass as we move our stuff. That certainly puts a smile on Donna's face.

Once we're a bit more private Lenny leans in. “Well, we couldn't ID our main sheep from dental records. Guy's teeth were extracted with a pair of pliers while he was still kicking, found the fragments of 'em in a wastebin. But we _were_ able to run DNA. Looks like our body is Jesse Lyserod, along with a bunch of his associates. Best we can tell is he broke free while he was burning, but once the heat blistered his lungs he couldn't make it far.”

“We also found this,” Elkredge says quietly, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his photo gallery. “Dusk or one of his cronies left it on an old barrel on the other end of the factory.”

I don't have to look at the photo to know what it was. A black rose in an evidence bag, with hints of blood red at the edges of the petals, like the still-blistering ends of a sheet of paper that'd been blackened by fire. It was Frisk's calling card for whenever he ordered a kill: the Sanguine Shadow.

“The City hasn't seen one of these in over twenty years...” I murmur, taking my drink again.

Elkredge snorts. “Like you'd know. You were a kit when that crap went down.”

I give him a hard glare. He always ribs me for my youth, but the fact is that I know more about Rufinius Varius Frisk than any other ZIA agent. I've tracked every rumor about him, faced off against a few of his Praetors, and Seraphine's even bumped up my security clearance just so I can access all the files we've got on the old bastard and the Vulpes Sanguinis.

“What about the DNA sample I got you?” I ask, turning towards Lenny. He's hunched in even closer to me now, and I can smell the grenadine and Cointreau on his breath.

It'd been a little undignified, having to dig through the bastard's trash to find something that'd serve. In the end I settled on an old wad of wintergreen gum that'd been balled up in its foil wrapper.

“It's a match,” Lenny says, setting down his half-finished Singapore Sling. “From the pattern it's gotta be Jacob Frisk's son.”

I knew it. The moment I saw his stupid pointy face I knew he was the whelp of Jacob Frisk. The Sanguinis' Master-at-Arms. The Prodigal. The bastard who put a bullet in my mother's brain without even flinching.

“Tell Adrienne I want Wilde put under immediate surveillance. Car at his apartment, bugs and hidden cameras in his room. Get her to access his email account, tap his phone. The works.”

“That why you selected him for the task force, then,” Elkredge says flatly, “Just so you can keep an eye on Wilde.”

“Do we even know if the Sanguinis has recruited him though?” Lenny muses, “I mean, he's a bit high-profile to be a member. Guy's been in the news for the whole Night Howler thing. Plus he's got a good service record.”

“He doesn't seem the type,” Miles says, rubbing his chin. “Before he joined the ZPD the worst he's ever done is small-scale gray market cons.”

“He's a Frisk,” I growl, “It's in his blood.”

“Hey he's no angel, that's for sure,” Miles agrees, “But if he isn't one of them we're splitting our focus with these extra measures watching his Reynard ass. Even if he's innocent he's a liability because of this crap.”

“We could just remove him from the task force,” adds Lenny.

“Better yet we can find a way to get Conall's notes released. Once that gets in the public record we can jail him over setting up Shepsfield,” says Miles. The wolf's notes had been a treasure trove of information. “Toss his little ass in Cell Block Six at Highwatch. A few days of trying to fend off Greasy Carl... he'll be more than pliable for questioning.”

“No. This is an opportunity we never had before,” I say quietly. Director Seraphine wouldn't approve, but with the Vulpes Sanguinis involved we'll have to be even more cunning. Playing it safe never worked in our attempts to take his empire down. “I've positioned him _exactly_ where I want him. We'll be feeding Wilde false intel, see if it works its way back to Rufinius. The Prince thinks he's smarter than anyone else, and _that's_ how we'll get him to slip up.”

Lenny goes quiet, edging back a bit. He's a scientist, not a spy. The guy has no mind for tactics and intelligence.

“It's a risk,” says Miles. “Safer to just jail his ass.”

“You don't get a vote.” I stand up and grab my jacket. “I'm going home.”

“Aren't you gonna get something to eat?” Lenny asks.

“I had a light dinner,” I tell him as I throw my jacket on and head out. Behind me I can hear Lenny asking Elkredge if I'm gonna be all right, but the rest of the conversation vanishes behind me as I leave the bar.

 

~~~~~

 

The moment I enter my apartment I know someone's in here.

In a flash I have my gun unholstered, the safety flicked off. With my back to the wall I sidestep along the floor, ears flicking like radar arrays, trying to get a bearing on who's in here and where. Something's bearing down on the crisp scent of lemon and pine cleaning solution... it's a faintly pungent smell, and thick.

When you're a ZIA agent in this sort of situation, the smallest decisions can save your life or get you killed. Where to leave a cigarette butt. Whether to leave a door open or closed or slightly ajar. Whether you turn on the lights or not. If the intruder's got night vision I'd cut off his advantage by turning the lights on and working from my superior hearing to determine where he's hiding. If he doesn't though, I've got the advantage in the dark.

With almost ten years of ZIA experience beneath my belt it takes a split-second to run the tactical calculus in my head. The Vulpes Sanguinis employs fox assassins, so that's what I'm banking on. Who is it? Mr. Smythe? Jacob Frisk himself?

I flick the light switch, and once the LEDs bloom overhead, illuminating my whole apartment, I notice the pizza box on the kitchen counter.

God damn it.

Relaxing a little but not daring to let my guard down just yet, I head to the bedroom while glancing at all the doors, just in case I'm wrong. There, sprawled on my bed in a naked pile of cream-colored fur is Skye. She looks up to me, and gives me a warm, mischievous grin.

“Thought you might like some company tonight,” she purrs. “Maybe you can put the gun down already?”

“Damn it, Skye...” I grumble as I re-engage the safety, “I thought you were past this.”

“Hey, I have to keep my skills sharp. Besides, I brought pizza.”

With my biometric scanner at the front door Skye must've slipped in from the apartment above and climbed down from the balcony. And with her talent she was probably able to keep the box upright somehow, so the slices wouldn't flop around and the cheese wouldn't stick to the lid. Note to self: install new biometric locks on the balcony door. And replace the sliding doors with ones made of impact-resistant resin that'd break any glass cutter a Praetor might try to use.

“I had a light dinner.”

Skye sniffs at that. “Meaning you had a couple drinks. You can't work on cognac alone, Jack.”

“What are you, my mother?” I say as I set my gun down and tug my tie loose.

“If you like. But I imagine that'll make what we're about to do kinda fucked up,” Skye says with a grin. “Besides, after Elkredge cockblocked us this afternoon I think we owe each other a little playtime. So you want to eat first or...?”

For the first time tonight, I break into a smile. What is it about Skye that she's able to make me feel this way? When we first met she'd been a cat burglar lifting art pieces and historical artifacts from mammals with too much wealth. She'd been on a one-way ticket to a high-security cell in Highwatch when Seraphine stepped in and threw us together for a mission. We'd almost gotten killed on that jaunt in Bearut. Hell, we'd almost killed _each other_ in Bearut. But somehow we got past trying to fill each other with bullets and, by some bizarre miracle, we've become... well, not lovers. Not anymore. But something close.

I begin unbuttoning my shirt, and with a sigh I slip into her open arms. Her touches knead all the tension out of my muscles, tension I hadn't even known I'd been carrying with me. She's warm, and soft, and I soon I'm feeling the heat of her mouth on mine.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“Sorry, Carrots. I'm just not really in the mood.”

“Well, so long as you don't think I'm weird for wanting to... you know.”

I can feel her skin flushing beneath her fur. I suppose it's a bunny thing, to get frisky when they're stressed. Gotta work even harder to pump out kits and survive as a species if they know that things are getting dangerous for 'em. I'd used my paws and my tongue, did my best to please her even though I couldn't get it up tonight. It was nice to lose myself, even for a little while, in the scent of her. Her paws toyed with my ears as I licked, and her muscular thighs had pressed inward, squeezing the sides of my skull.

I'd had to work quickly, especially with the computer being slow as molasses. Maybe if I'd had more time, if I hadn't been in a panic, I could've done a better job. I did what I could though, deleting the incriminating video and replacing it with a copy from the same hour and a different day. The only copy showing his face now has been transferred to my phone, and I'll have to consider storing it away somewhere safe. Maybe I could give Marcus a call and get him to help me... get some encryption protocol to lock it up nice and secure.

It'd taken every ounce of self-control, every scrap of deception I'd learned in my twenty years as a con artist to be able to plaster a relaxed smile on my face and pretend that everything was normal. When we continued our rounds and finished interviewing the businesses in the area we returned to the warehouse and met up with Benjy and Savage.

Only then did I let myself feel the panic. Once I was surrounded by the corpses and the smell of cooked meat I had the perfect excuse to freak out.

“Nick? When I chose to become a cop... I didn't... I never thought I'd ever see something like that.”

Judy shudders, and I squeeze her more tightly. My muzzle's planted on her skull, right between her ears. She's so small against my body, so delicate, like a little stuffed animal.

Pulling myself away from her I slip out of the bed. It's a warm night, and we've gotten used to seeing each other's naked bodies so she doesn't do that female thing where she pulls the sheets up to cover herself. Grabbing my pants from off the floor I begin to get dressed.

“You're not staying the night?” Judy's ears droop as I pull on my shirt.

“I... I just kinda need to process this on my own,” I say quietly. “Will you be okay?”

“Sure. Guys need their personal time, don't they? Besides, I do have this little guy.” She picks up the plush fox on her bed. Judy's sisters had sewn him a little Pawaiian shirt and tie, along with a pair of slacks. He even has a lazy, half-lidded gaze. Over his chest on the front pocket Judy had stuck an old wrinkled police badge sticker. We both know where that'd come from.

“Thanks, Carrots...” I smile, and leaning in to cup her face I plant a kiss on her forehead. “I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“There's nothing to make up, Nick. I'm tougher than I look. I can manage on my own for a little while, at least.”

“You're never on your own,” I say as I approach the door, “Not when I'm a text away.”

Judy holds up the plush fox, and gripping his right arm with two fingers gives me a little goodbye wave. Chuckling, I close the door behind me. I haven't taken two steps when I hear Bucky and Pronk shouting through the walls again.

“ _That was beautiful, Fox!”_

_“Yeah! You take good care of our girl tomorrow!”_

Yeeeep. Another reason why she's never alone.

Sometimes I'm glad there aren't many nocturnals on this street. It's quiet, and the night air is crisp and clean. The faint chill has helped settle most of the dust and grungy city-smell that thickens in the day. I can just walk on my own to the bus stop, the line of street lamps lighting my way.

Even though I value my alone time, I find my paw slipping into my pocket to feel at my phone. I guess there's no time better than the present.

I haven't really bothered to store the number in my contacts. It isn't often that I call, which I'm pretty sure I'll get some complaints about. But I've memorized it anyway. For some reason it feels more natural to type it out manually, though granted it's a little weird to call her right after having sex with my girlfriend.

“ _Nick?_ ” Mom says as she answers the phone. “ _What's wrong?_ ”

“Wh-” I start, “Why do you think something's wrong?”

“ _When have you **ever** called this late without something having gone wrong?_ ”

Okay you think your mom is bad? Try having a fox as a mother. They're able to tease out even more about your life than your average mammal.

“It's...” I begin, and let out a sigh. “It's... hard to say.”

For a long while she's quiet on the other end of the line. “ _Are you eating well, Nick?_ ”

“Better than before,” I say, glad she's changing the subject. “Judy's helping make sure my diet's a little more balanced, though we're still eating out a lot.”

“ _I keep telling you to bring her over for dinner. You're young... you can't keep wasting your money going to restaurants all the time. Besides, the only time I got to meet her was at your graduation ceremony._ ”

“I'll think about it. It's just that right now we're so busy with this case...”

“ _The ZIA task force?_ ”

I stop walking. “How'd you hear about that?”

“ _Judy was kind enough to call me. Congrats, Nick._ ” Of course the underlying message there was that I need to call more often. Mom has always been a master at gently chiding me without sounding like a nag. “ _She really is such a sweet girl. Almost worth you ruining my dream of ever having gradkids._ ”

“Yeah. She... she really is,” I sigh. “We've talked about adopting, you know. Once we get settled down a bit more, but right now it's just... we have a lot to deal with right now.”

“ _Something to do with the warehouse fire I suppose?_ ”

I let out an annoyed huff. “Jeez, Mom. Do you _really_ have to keep throwing curveballs like this? Maybe _you_ should've joined the ZPD instead. You seem to be strangely on top of things.”

There's a bubbly laugh on her end. “ _Oh Nicky you always made things too obvious. Besides, I saw it on the news and put two and two together._ ”

“Well I can't talk about it. Classified, you know.”

“ _Fancy,_ ” she says dryly, but her tone softens into one of concern. “ _Nick... was it bad?_ ”

I can still see it. The blackened bones, the grinning skulls, the chains. They'd been spread out, their bonds pulled taut, like they'd been thrashing and struggling to escape, even as they burned. Then there was the smell of char and the savory sweetness of roasting meat, a thick and greasy aroma that'd made my mouth water despite myself...

“Yeah, mom...” I murmur. “It was bad.”

There's a long, pregnant silence before she speaks again. “ _Nick... I want you to come home. Just for tonight at least. I've got some leftover cobbler, and you can sleep in your old bed. I'll even make you some hot chocolate._ ”

“With marshmallow bits?”

“ _With marshmallow bits._ ”

As nice as that sounds, I can't rest right now. I can't get too comfortable... there's so much I need to mull over, so much I need to figure out. “I can't, mom. I'm sorry. But really, I called because I needed to ask you something about-”

There's a faint click on the line.

“-dad.” Something's wrong, I realize. “Mom? Mom are you there?”

“ _Your mother can't hear you right now, Mr. Wilde._ ”

The blood freezes in my veins. The voice is cheerful and friendly. Playful, even. But a cold terror spikes through my chest, and I freeze on the spot as the panic rises in me. “Wh- who are you? What've you done with my mom?!”

“ _Remain calm, Mr. Wilde. As far as your mother knows the call simply dropped. We're just piggybacking off of her line. If anyone looks into your cellphone records, they'll just see a continuing phone call to your mother right now. I'm a friend. My name is Sebastian Dusk._ ”

“I... I don't know who you are.”

“ _And yet you're supposed to know everybody. That's quite all right, I try to keep a low profile. Mr. Wilde, I would like you to face the other end of the street. Once you do, at a thirty degree angle to your right, eighteen inches away from you, you'll see a discarded soda can._ ”

“Wh- what?” I gasp. He's watching me. He's watching me _right now_. My eyes flick back and forth as my heartbeat quickens, and I scan the surrounding buildings trying to look for him. Yet most of the windows are dark, and in the few that _are_ lit I see no one.

“ _Mr. Wilde? The can._ ”

I glance down, and indeed there's a little cola can lying on its side. The moment I notice it though it bounces away with a faint _**piff**_ , and a cloud of concrete dust rises from where it'd rested.

I leap back with a choked yelp. A sniper. There's a sniper trained on me at this very moment.

“Wh... what do you want?” I pant. I'm spinning in a circle now, scanning the buildings with increasing desperation. Even when I was being chased by a savage Manchas, even when Shepsfield held me against that lamppost with his hooves around my throat I hadn't felt so terrified. Right now, I can't even see the mammal who has a gun aimed straight in my direction. “Please, I- I don't want any trouble...”

“ _Don't worry, Mr. Wilde_ ,” the voice continues as bright and cheerful as before. Sebastian's mood hasn't altered a hair. “ _As I said: I'm a friend. Now follow my instructions to the letter, if you please. It's time for you to reunite with your father._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I REALLY like writing scenes with Donna, turns out. "Aggressively unattractive" is deffo one of my better euphemisms too. And yes, turns out Greasy Carl is real. I imagine Benjy mentioned him to Danny sometime in the past.
> 
> That being said, I'm definitely thinking of changing the title for this story to "Nick Wilde Must Die." It's a little more on-point and less pretentious. I would be very eager to hear your thoughts on this so PLEASE do comment and give me your opinion.


	11. Sinfonica Eroica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick enjoys some classical music, Dr. Conall has tea with an old friend.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“ _Once you take a right, continue down two blocks while hugging the wall,_ ” Sebastian continues to direct me. I'm familiar now with this awkward zig-zag dance through the monitored streets, sticking to all the CCTV blind spots. While there are fewer cameras to avoid as I go on, the neighborhoods I'm passing through are also getting rougher. Zootopia's pretty safe for the most part, but hereabouts is the kinda area where carrying a fox taser is obligatory, much as I hate to say it.

“Are you trying to get me shanked?” I whisper into the phone. Cripes, I know for a _fact_ that just a block from here a ZPD officer had been killed in a drug bust gone wrong.

“ _That won't happen, Mr. Wilde. If anyone attempts to harm you we'll take care of him._ ”

That doesn't calm me down a whisker. In fact, that makes it so much _worse_ because now I also gotta worry about some homeless mammal getting plugged because he's trying to ask me for change or something.

Though I'm trying to remain inconspicuous (well, as inconspicuous as I can be while taking an unusual route circumventing the CCTV cameras), I can't help but let my eyes wander. It isn't just me trying to look out for punks hopped up on Blue. I'm still looking for whoever's tailing me. But there's no movement behind or above, no suspicious shadows or the sound of footsteps. Just me on the phone with Sebastian, and him stringing me along with the threat of a sniper rifle pointed at my head.

“ _I would suggest you focus on my directions rather than trying to locate the Praetors who are keeping an eye on you._ ”

I shudder, and turn to face forward as I head down to a dark corner of the block.

“Where to now?” I whisper into the phone.

“ _You're here._ ”

Blinking, I look around. The buildings here are no more than two stories tall, and the brick walls are beginning to crumble. Punk teens had covered the place with graffiti, and it smells like a dumpster. The stench of moldy Bug Burgas and sour milk sting my nose.

But then in an alley to my right, there's movement. I nearly jump out of my skin.

He could've stayed right where he was and I never would've noticed. The only reason I was able to see him was because he _wanted_ to be seen. It wasn't just where he'd been standing, pressed flat against the wall and just beyond my sight. It was the dull brown suit he wore that blended into the brick when he stood in the shadows. And it was the fact that his scent was muted... somehow flat and inert like an old rug that'd been left out in the sun too long.

I don't recognize him at first, this red fox standing in front of me. He only looks like a vaguely familiar tod, one with a gaunt, narrow face and cold eyes. He looks nothing like the fox I remember. There's no resemblance to the image I'd conjure up whenever I'd reminisce... the one with a round, gentle face and a mouth that so easily twitched into a smile. The father who'd let me rest my head in his lap when I was sad, with the soft weight of his paw resting on my scalp. He seems so _short_ too, but then I remember that _I'm_ the one who's grown taller.

Sure that suit is well-tailored, and he's nicely groomed... good first impressions are so important for a fox, he used to tell me. But the tod standing before me, with those hardened features and stiff posture... I don't think I can ever see him letting me rest my head on his lap if I needed to cry, or buying a young me a blueberry Freezee to cheer me up.

“Nick...” he says, spreading open his arms, like he's inviting me in for a hug. That voice... for weeks I'd cried, thinking I'd never hear him speak my name ever again. It's a bit coarser than I remember, and thick with emotion. But this feels like a trap, and in the back of my mind I'm _screaming_ in terror, imagining a set of iron spikes closing in around me if I step closer.

The thin half-smile he's wearing fades when he sees the look on my face, recognizes that I'm frozen stiff where I'm standing.

He sighs then, and lets his arms fall to his sides. “It's all right. I know this is difficult to process. I've waited twenty years to see you again, and I've run this exact scenario through my head a thousand times. Regardless... it's good to see you again, my boy.”

“Y-you're dead...” I whisper, and my vision's getting blurry. I'm trembling now, like a sapling shaken by a strong wind. The tears are trailing down my cheeks and the back of my throat. I can taste the saltiness at the back of my tongue. “M-mom... she... she said... there was a car accident...”

I don't recognize him. This isn't him.

“Don't hold it against her, Nick. She didn't know.”

“So... so the security camera footage...”

“A lure,” he says, “We knew you were one of the officers on the task force. Woodruff was simply ordered to guide you alone to the security footage when he saw you. Failing that, we had other clues sprinkled around the city for you.”

“Wait, the beaver mechanic?”

“He's clean. The poor fellow had to be pressed into service,” Dad sighs. “I'll make sure he's well compensated.”

Just then there's a shadow slipping in from behind me, and I whip around in a panic. It's an arctic fox, his fur and suit both white as snow, his eyes a cheerful blue. His paws are folded behind his back, and his mouth's curved in an easy, warm smile. It's reassuring somehow... calming, like I can trust him.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Wilde,” he says, and I recognize the voice immediately. He'd been directing me this whole time, with a sniper at my back. Any hope that his might be a friendly face dies the moment he speaks. “I do hope we can be the closest of friends. Your father and I are just about the same age, you know. At one point perhaps you would've called me 'uncle.' Though I still like to think that we have a chance of being as close.”

“Can't you give us a moment alone, Sebastian?” Dad asks sharply.

“You know that isn't possible, Jacob.”

“Jacob?” I ask, turning to face my father. “Who's Jacob? You're John! John Wilde!”

“I do apologize, Nick,” Sebastian interrupts, “but these late summer evenings are ever so short, and every minute we lose more of the night.”

He moves his paws and I flinch, thinking he might be holding a gun. Instead he has a black hood and a pair of earplugs in his paws, while behind him a limo pulls up quietly in the street.

I've met some pretty dangerous mammals in my time as a hustler, dealt with mobsters and crime bosses. I know when to obey... when it's best to not ask any more questions.

Even though my head's covered and I've got my ears plugged I desperately try to get my bearings. My mind's racing, trying to focus on the motion of the car. Hell, I even try to carve every little bump and stop and turn into my mind, so that maybe later I can work off of intuition. It isn't long though before I lose track though.

Psychological stamina is a resource like any other, and I'm running low on my reserves. After the emotional rollercoaster today I'm feeling particularly vulnerable right now, especially now that I can't see or hear anything. And y'know, thinking about it, that's probably what these guys are banking on, and probably why they've abducted me at this time of night, all while I was heading home from Judy's and on the phone with Mom. After talking to the two women who I'm closest to I'm more emotionally exposed. They're messing with my head: softening me up for what's to come.

I need to recenter myself. Try to find that quiet spot in my head and focus more on restoring my mental reserves. I'll need my wits about me for what's to come.

I must've let out a whimper, because I feel a warm paw closing in around mine. Even though he's practically a stranger now, I know it's the fox claiming to be my Dad. There's a little comfort in that, at least.

Now the car is dipping forward, and even the scant light of the streetlamps that filters between the black fibers of the hood is gone. There's a new chill in the air, and a stillness that leaves my fur prickling. We've gone underground.

I think back to the last time I explored the sewer system, so many weeks ago when me and Charlie were taking a stealthier route to Shepsfield's house. Back then I'd mulled over the hidden warrens that might've been lost in the centuries of construction, whole blocks of streets that might've been buried. Back then I thought it might've been a place for small gangs to congregate, maybe even the site of a Blue lab or a nip grow-op. I've even pored through old historical maps in City Hall, marked off some likely locations for the ZIA to check for our sheep of interest.

I never imagined that I'd ever see this.

Sebastian removes the hood and lets me pull the plugs out of my ears. I blink at the pale yellow lights lining the walls, low-wattage incandescent bulbs that look like they're twenty years old. For diurnal mammals the hall would be dimly lit, but it's a comfortable level of illumination for a fox's eyes.

“Welcome,” Sebastian says with a grin, “to the Twilight Cathedral.”

It takes me a moment to gather myself. I scoot to the edge of the limo seat, still snuffling and trying to calm down. I scrub my eyes... anyone seeing me now would know that I've been crying softly while wearing that hood.

“Come along now,” Sebastian urges cheerfully, nodding towards a tall set of double doors, the gray brick walls like those of a medieval castle.

“Give him a moment, Sebastian. Can't you see he's overwhelmed?” Dad insists.

“I... I'm fine. Just gimme a minute...”

Closing my eyes I put myself through the paces. For so long I'd gotten by with it as a survival technique, but I'd tried to shed the habit ever since I began to connect with Judy. With her I need to _feel_. But right now, with the danger I know I'm about to face, I need to _survive_.

 _Never let things get to you, Nick_ , I tell myself. _Nothing gets to you. Not the kids who muzzled you. Not the sheep who tried to kill you._

That's it. Nothing gets to you.

When I open my eyes again I've settled down significantly. Now I just feel kinda numb inside, though I still let out the occasional hiccup, and my paw shivers when Dad takes it and pulls me out of the limo. My legs are shaky, but I put one foot in front of the other, and I blink away the pain.

We enter the atrium beyond, and now that I'm a bit more in control of my feelings I gawk, realizing that it _is_ a cathedral. Well... in décor at least, not function. Dusty old tapestries hang from the walls, the blood-red carpet is soft beneath my feet. A massive chandelier hangs overhead, and candelabras on stands shed spooky, flickering lights throughout the massive chamber.

A haunting melody comes from the room beyond... one played in pure, ringing tones. It's slow and mournful, and the sound of it is... I hate to use the cliché, but... ethereal. Dad and Sebastian lead me down to the next set of double-doors as I turn and look at all the old-world elements. Whoever set this place up either had really classical sensibilities, or they lived three hundred years ago.

The music is coming from the next room, and as we get closer the sound is driving an icy chill through me. I stand up straight like a cold metal spike is sliding down through my spine. The room here is an enormous lounge, with fox-sized leather chairs and tables, and classy bookshelves lining the walls. No Harold Porker novels here... the dusty old tomes look like they're almost as old as the Twilight Cathedral itself.

There's a crowd of foxes here: the tods are in fine suits and ties, the small scattering of vixens in gowns that accentuate their fine figures. It's no cocktail party. Everyone is standing stiff and at attention, almost like they're viewing a royal procession.

In the middle of it is an elderly fox. His fingers are dancing over the strange instrument, like a horizontal column of glass with copper rings at even intervals. A copper pipe is suspended above the thing, dripping water over the glass. Each time he caresses the surface with a feather-light touch a tone, so pure and sweet it almost seems to cut into my ears, sings out.

The tod's sleek, his brick-red fur generously salted with white hairs. He's gotta be seventy, maybe eighty years old: the fur on his muzzle and around his eyes is bone-white with age, and the pattern leaves him looking like he's wearing one of those plague doctors' masks from the Middle Ages. There's something stately about him, the way he stands straight in that dark violet paisley-patterned suit, playing the instrument with smooth expertise.

And then, in a slow, receding hum, he finishes. I hadn't recognized the tune, but there was something mournful and classical about it.

He looks up at me then, with those hard yellow eyes.

I put my paws together, feeling like there should be applause. But the moment I start to clap everyone looks at me and I suddenly feel extremely, _extremely_ awkward.

Oh my god I'm going to die, aren't I?

The old fox stares at me, and I feel a nudge against my back. Hesitantly, I take a step forward. And then another, until I'm three feet away from the musician.

“Bearthovens third symphony, _Sinfonica Eroica,_ ” he says in the hoary old voice of a history professor. “The second movement, _Marcia Funebre: Adiago Assai_ , adapted for the glass armonica. I always favored this instrument. Such pure tones.”

“It's... it was lovely. Really nice,” I say, forcing a smile. I really wish I knew the protocol here. Am I supposed to kneel? Kiss his paw? Hell, kiss his _feet_? Honestly at this point I'm willing to do anything to get out of this unscathed. He seems even deadlier than Mr. Big.

“Bearthoven was going deaf as he was composing this piece,” he continues, pressing a switch on the side of the instrument. The column of glass cups had been rotating this whole time, I realize, and now he's switched it off. “Little wonder then that he contemplated suicide. Yet even as the most precious of his musician's senses was in decline, his single greatest asset was intact. Do you know what that was, Nicholas?”

“His... his mind?” I gulp.

“Very astute,” he nods. “Despite his condition the great composer pressed on, the brilliance for the art shining forth even as the silence continued to close in upon him. And in the span of years to follow he would give us his fourth symphony, his fifth, his sixth... and then, finally, he would give the world the greatest work known to mammalkind. His ninth symphony.”

“Well, I know some of those, at least.” I'm far from classically educated, but even I'm not a complete dullard when it comes to this stuff.

“That shall be you, my Nicholas. My grandson. My heir. I am Rufinius Varius Frisk, the Prince, and you shall be my Ode to Joy.”

Again, it feels like there should be applause. Some expression of celebration from the crowd. But all they do is bow their heads to the deafening silence.

The old tod reaches out to me then, cupping my cheeks. I don't have much time to react when he pulls me in for a kiss on the mouth. I stand there stiff, wide-eyed, his muzzle pressed to mine. He smells like smoked tea and jasmine.

It hadn't taken much reasoning to figure out who he is. But ever since I was a kid the only grandparents I'd known were from my mother's side. Dad's family was just nonexistent. There'd been no aunts, no uncles... it never occurred to me that he ever had any living family members. I guess I always assumed Dad was an orphan or something.

Now that I'm muzzle-to-muzzle with my grandfather, _literally_ , no less, the thought of Dad's side of the family seems so alien to me, so terrifying, that I feel like I'm standing in some sort of dream. The haunting echo of the instrument's surreal melody seems to still ring in my ears, and that doesn't help.

I gasp when he lets me pull away, and clutching a paw to my chest I look back at the fox who claimed to be my Dad, then at Sebastian, and then back to the old fox. There's nothing familiar about this. Nothing that I can really connect to. I'm Alice who's fallen through the rabbit hole, Gulliver abandoned on the shore. I'm just a stupid former con artist who's somehow slipped and fallen into this insane new world.

I must've watched one too many horror movies too, because it feels as if the foxes around me are gonna hold me down, drain my blood, and turn me into a vampire or something.

“W-well...” I swallow, mind racing to find a way out of this situation. “I'm flattered by the vote of confidence, but... I really don't see myself in any of this. I'm just a simple fox trying to make a living. I've got a nine-to-five job, a 401K, a dental plan... it's... I'm gonna have a hard time fitting anything else into my career. So while it's nice to meet you I'm sure you're all very busy and-”

“You will make room easily enough,” says Rufinius. Even in my head thinking of him as just 'Gramps' is impossible.

“Look, I really don't know what you guys do here, and I don't want to know. I saw _nothing_ here, I'll say _nothing_. I've gone clean now. Whatever you guys do I'm just not capable of this kind of life anymore, so-”

Before I can even blink he's cracked his paw across my face, hard enough to throw me to the ground. He may be old but the guy has a strong right paw. I look up at him in shock, rubbing my cheek, and all of a sudden I feel like a twelve-year-old kit again. The tears are welling up in my eyes once more.

“I know perfectly well what you're capable of. You were central in the Shepsfield affair, were you not?” he says coldly, flexing his fingers. The dampness of his palm from playing the glass armonica gave an extra sting to the blow. “Do not lie, Nicholas. Not to your enemies, not to your friends, and _especially_ not to me. It is tawdry and it is cheap. A truly cunning fox is capable of deception without lying. Now come. Let us celebrate your arrival.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

“I'm afraid I don't have your talent when it comes to brewing a cup of tea, so I hope this will suffice.”

Director Seraphine presents me with a mug of Darjeeling. I can tell from the aroma that the water had been a touch too hot, and as a result the astringency of the leaves had been enhanced. I add a splash of milk to round it out, and a small spoonful of cane sugar to sweeten it.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I say as I breathe in the aromas of my mug. “I do apologize for the sudden drop-in.”

Fortunate for me that snow leopards, like wolves, tend towards a nocturnal schedule. At this time of Night Seraphine is at her most active. Like me I'm sure she appreciates the silence. Easier to get work done.

“I'm always happy to make time for you, Isaac, though I suspect this isn't a social call.”

It is a mere colloquialism on her part, a habit inculcated in her through years of boarding school. I'd known the moment I walked in the door that she was far from happy. I could smell the adrenaline and cortisol flowing through her veins, intermingled with an assortment of other stress hormones. It's trickled from her in her breath and sweat, lending a metallic bitterness and a sharp heat to her scent beneath the lavender perfume.

“I am concerned, Margot. This afternoon Bogo gave me a call. He wanted me to expand my schedule, accommodate more of his officers. I heard what happened on the news in that warehouse, and I can easily imagine what many in the ZPD are going through.”

“Rival drug lords aren't known for being gentle,” she says coolly as she sips her coffee.

Technically she is telling the truth, though beneath it there is a faintly sweet unctuousness that begins to bloom. It's very subtle, almost imperceptible, but I know she's hiding something.

“Margot...” I say gently. “We've worked long enough to earn each others' respect. I had hoped there wouldn't be any secrets between us.”

“Pity then, that secrets are so central to our chosen careers.”

“True enough,” I nod, “But I know the Frisk family has returned.”

One cannot be promoted to be the director of the ZIA if one loses their composure easily. The most I get from her is a level gaze over the rim of her mug.

“You are a dangerous wolf, Isaac. Did you figure it out just now?”

“I've known for a while. There is a palpable tension in the air when I see the ZIA agents. I've not seen such behavior in well over two decades.”

I'd only just begun my practice back then in 1995. With the spate of kidnappings and the plague of murders and mutilations, the strain on the ZIA stretched many agents to their limits. Though I was young and the ink on my doctorate was still drying, my reputation had gotten me an office at their headquarters for a time.

“The ZIA is more prepared to deal with the matter now than we were twenty years ago,” she says with firm conviction.

“With all due respect, back then the Frisks were forced to divide their resources in the Blood Wars. They had twelve other First Families to contend with,” I take a moment to sip my tea. Beneath the milk the Darjeeling is arboreal and cooling, with a depth that's almost wine-like. “I am already working with the ZPD to help mitigate any damage. I am offering my services to you as well.”

“I have ten psychologists in my employ already, and they work as a cohesive unit to keep my agents' mental health in check.” Margot had attempted to recruit me for this unit of hers of course, but I'd been too busy at the time with my research.

Besides, I'm a lone wolf for the most part. I pursue my own agendas.

“None of whom have my talents,” I counter. “And really, Margot... Gerard Lutrin? You might as well hire a marriage counselor for all the good he'll do.”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn't concerned,” she sighs as she glances out the window. The city is glowing against the night sky, a sight so lovely that it's difficult to imagine the ugliness that lay beneath. “Many agents have a personal stake in combating the Frisk threat. It gives them a hunger to see the Frisks defeated, but a certain instability as well.”

She mulls it over for a moment, staring into the mug in her spotted white paws.

“What is it you need?”

“My original security clearance and access to my old notes should suffice for now,” I say calmly.

“That may be doable,” she nods.

“And if possible, I would like access to the psych profiles of any agents on the task force. It would be most useful.”

Seraphine looks up from her tea suddenly, and her eyes narrow. “ _You're_ asking for me to order a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality? That is most uncharacteristic.”

I give her a mild, almost placating smile with a precisely calculated level of warmth. “We both know that when it comes to the ZIA there is no such thing as confidentiality. Not for you at least, especially with the stakes involved in facing the Frisks again. What happens when an agent has a psychotic break in the middle of the mission? Or suffers from a persistent subclinical case of anxiety due to the stress? The Frisks aren't merely nip dealers and mammal traffickers, Margot. Nor do they rely on assassination as the sole means to their goals. They will do what they can to drive their enemies completely mad.”

Her eyes narrow. “I will consider your offer.”

“That is all I'm asking for,” I say simply, setting my mug down. “In the meantime, I will sniff around the ZPD and keep your agents in check. With your permission of course.”

“As if I could stop you.”

“You could always have my tea poisoned.”

“I like you far too much to do that. For now at least,” Seraphine chuckles. “Tell me, Doctor... what _does_ encroaching madness smell like?”

“Depends on the disorder,” I say, standing up and straightening my coat. “Anything from a fevered sweetness, to the zest of a bitter orange.”

Though for a condition like psychopathy, you would smell and suspect nothing at all.

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA FILE CIR-332.53** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **NAME:** Sebastian Dusk (Codename: “The Smiler”)

 **SPECIES:** Fox (Arctic)

 **BIRTH DATE:** Dec. 21, 1965 (age 51)

 **HEIGHT:** 4'2”

 **WEIGHT:** 77 lbs

 **NOTABLE FEATURES:** Ever-present and persistent smile.

 **HISTORY:** Of all the Praetors on file, Sebastian Dusk has the most extensive available personal history. Born to [REDACTED], Sebastian was known for his even temperament and sociable nature. No records from his elementary or high school years indicate any disciplinary problems. Dusk graduated from [REDACTED] and entered Zootopia University in 1983. There he earned a Bachelors degree in Mammalian Anatomy with a minor in Political Science, and in 1988 began applying to Zootopia Medical University.

His first two applications were rejected, but in 1991 Dusk was finally accepted into ZMU. Grades were middling, and though he was noted as possessing a high level of charisma, advisers noted that Dusk struggled with his academic work. In 1993, Dusk left ZMU without completing his second year. ZIA analysts suspect a psychological breakdown was the cause.

In 1994, Dusk was reported by [REDACTED] as having been recruited into the Vulpes Sanguinis. By 1996, Dusk began operating as Rufinius Frisk's chief negotiator and envoy.

In March of 2006, Dusk was reportedly involved in [REDACTED]. Search of the area found the bodies of two ZIA operatives [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Autopsies revealed subjects were alive for at least forty-eight hours, during which time [REDACTED] and severe [REDACTED]. It is unknown how much classified information was revealed as a result, but observations of Sanguinis activity in [REDACTED] indicate that the Sanguinis now possess at least Level-III classified information regarding [REDACTED]. This is the most severe security breach to a terrorist organization to date. ( _See Appendix 2201.4 for full intelligence report on this matter_ )

In August of 2017, Dusk was reported by [REDACTED] as having approached him accompanied by Mr. Smythe and Jacob Frisk in a hotel room. The encounter resulted in the murder of an arctic fox, [REDACTED] during [REDACTED]. Subject has been placed under ZIA protection.

 **TALENTS:** Sebastian Dusk has not been directly observed in combat, but reports suggest that he possesses relatively little experience or skill for a Vulpes Sanguinis Praetor. Despite this, the deaths of at least 8 mammals can be attributed to him in combat situations.

Dusk possesses a strong working knowledge of mammalian anatomy, which he has repurposed for interrogation. Forensic experts who have analyzed his work describe his talents as being equivalent to a 5-10 year surgical veteran. Recovery at multiple incident sites suggest a confirmed body count of 22 from Dusk's interrogation techniques. The real number is likely much higher.

Dusk is known to have exceptional interpersonal talents, being able to slip in and out of any social situation presented to him with ease. He has been known to talk himself past guards and security forces, and in the case of [REDACTED] was able to convince a once-psychologically healthy subject to attempt suicide in the span of 2 hours.

Dusk is an expert at negotiation and manipulation. How much of this is due to his personal charisma and how much is due to the terror he is capable of inducing due to his reputation is unknown.

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:** With Dusk's charm and apparent lack of guilt, ZIA psychologists have ranked him as possibly scoring a 32-36 on the Hare Psychopathy Test. His penchant for torture also suggests that Dusk has some degree of Sadistic Personality Disorder. However, other signs and symptoms indicate that his anomalous mentality may instead be due to abnormalities along a wholly different psychological axis.

Subjects who have encountered Dusk describe him as possessing a perpetually cheerful attitude that immediately engenders trust. This attitude is indistinguishable from normal expressions of good humor. Indeed, initial encounters with Dusk portray him as friendly, warm, and rational.

Very few reports show Dusk as having exhibited any instances of emotion outside of joy. Whether this is due to immense self-control or a neurological inability to process or express other emotions is unknown. A rare mood disorder remains a distinct possibility.

While ZIA analysts believe he was born with this condition, the events of 1991-1993 may have catalyzed a severe shift in his psyche towards his unusual form of psychosis.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> For those of you who aren't well-versed in musical history (pffft as if I am?) the Prince's choice of instrument as well as his musical selection here are both heavily laden with meaning. For one, the glass armonica (AKA the glass harmonica) was originally invented by Benjamin Franklin in 1761. It's basically a rotary version of playing a song on a bunch of wine glasses. YouTube some examples, if you like. It's known for having a haunting, ethereal sound to it. However, by the late 18th/early 19th centuries the glass armonica fell out of favor as an instrument.
> 
> While there were other, more central reasons as to why this was so, it didn't help that many people in Europe at the time believed that music produced by the glass armonica was so alien, so strange, that it drove people insane. It was thus considered a very dangerous instrument for both the player and the listener. In a way this is a subtle nod to Rufinius' nature: does he favor this instrument because he's insane? Or because it draws other mammals into a form of madness? Or both?
> 
> It's also important to note the specific song Rufinius is playing. As he mentions, it is a part of Beethoven/Bearthoven's third symphony. The second movement of this symphony, Sinfonica Eroica, is a very sad and melancholy song that was for a while played as a funeral dirge. But it's important again to note what Rufinius is saying here: that Beethoven/Bearthoven was indeed just beginning to go deaf while he was working on this piece, and because of this he was considering suicide at the time. Despite this, the great composer pressed on and continued to live, developing an incredible and illustrious career and crafting some of the greatest musical pieces in history. This song (and this moment) for Rufinius is one of decline (he is getting quite old) but it also reflects the themes of rebirth and creation, especially now that he has connected with Nick as his heir.
> 
> In playing this piece Rufinius is therefore noting his own frailty, but at the same time acknowledging that despite his physical decline (like Bearthoven's deafness), his own intellect (much like Bearthoven's musical genius) is quite intact, and he has great plans ahead.
> 
> And once again, it's quite fun writing Conall's section here. Please comment below as to your thoughts on him!
> 
> And yes, we will definitely be seeing more ZIA files in the future.


	12. The Twilight Cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick sits down to dinner with his family.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

My head's spinning, and it's not just because I've just been bitchslapped by an elder for the first time in my life. I'd chalk it up to something in the air, but frankly the simplest explanation is my mind is buckling over how fucking surreal all of this still is. In a weird sort of way the Twilight Cathedral is a dark reflection of the Hopps family home. The Hopps warren had long, curving tunnels. It'd been snug and cozy, brightly lit with pinks and pastels. And there was a down-to-earth, rustic charm to it.

The Twilight Cathedral on the other paw is grim, with high vaulted ceilings and dreary stone. The décor is garish: gilded lamps and candelabras, baroque tapestries and paintings. And instead of the happy chatter of hundreds of bunnies crammed together there's the silence that still seems to ring with the ghost of the symphony movement Rufinius had just finished.

I rub my cheek. It still stings.

We pass through a room with dozens of potted rosebushes. The blossoms are ones I've never seen before in any flower shop. They're banded in deep purples and reds, one strain is a deep blue with dustings of yellow-gold. One bush catches my eye, though... the roses on that one are solid black, save for the blood-red edges of the petals.

The next room we pass looks like an aquarium. There's a dozen large fish tanks filled with eels. Their snakelike bodies are glossy and gray, their heads tapered.

And finally, we reach a private dining room. Passing through the double-doors I look up at the two guards flanking the entrance: a pair of black panthers. Apparently Rufinius doesn't just keep foxes in his employ. Their faces are slashed with pink scars, but beneath the crisscrossed marks the guys look young, maybe just fresh out of high school. And instead of the formal suits the foxes are wearing they're in more casual dress: jeans and t-shirts.

My eyes widen when I recognize them. The last time I saw the pair they were wearing bloodstained varsity jackets, and had gone completely bonkers on Blue in a nightclub on the edge of the Jungle Row.

The Lone Digger.

They stare back when they recognize me in turn. I was one of the guys who arrested them, after all. Hell, I was the one who subdued them with Benjy's tranq gun. What the hell are they doing here? How'd they get _released_?!

“I'm sure you recognize Oliver and Milo,” says Rufinius calmly. “They've become quite helpful lads. Your father is training them in the use of firearms, and as I understand it they're making good progress.”

“Yes, my Prince.” It's a bit of a shock to hear Dad speak again after remaining silent so long. Though after thinking for years that I'd never hear his voice again, hearing _anything_ from him is gonna be disturbing. “But it will be some time before they can be put in the field. They still need to train with mobile targets.”

“Does seeing them upset you, my boy?” Rufinius says as he looks to me. “I realize you have a bit of a history with these two cats. Would you like me to have them killed?”

The two panthers' jaws drop, and they look to me in wide-eyed pleading.

“No!” I yelp. It's one thing to hear a mob boss suggest a murder. It's another entirely to hear him say it so _casually_. “No, please, that's not necessary. It's all in the past, isn't it?”

Rufinius nods and directs me to take a seat. Milo and Oliver breathe a sigh of relief.

A dozen foxes could've sat at the long table, but right now there are places set for three. Rufinius sits at the head in an ornate chair, gilded so that it resembles a throne. He gestures for dad to sit at his left, and I take the seat on his right.

“Are you hungry, Nicolas?” he asks.

“I could eat.” I know better than to reject the hospitality of a crime boss.

Sebastian heads to a nearby table and uncorks a bottle, pouring its contents into a glass carafe and swirling it to aerate the wine. It's a deep purple, like Rufinius' suit jacket and tie.

I've never been much of a wine guy, but one taste and I know it's some expensive stuff. Though it's rich and full-bodied it goes down easily, with none of that rough tannin clinging to my tongue from two-buck chuck.

The waiters come in, and I do a double-take upon seeing they're bunnies in thin, clinging silk. Each one wears a golden collar and a vapid smile, their eyes blank. They're well-trained, setting the dishes on the table in unison. On each plate are gray-black slivers of... stuff, along with small tentacles and their suckers mixed in among a salad of crisp greens and tangerine wedges. The orange and green are so bright against the black.

“Octopus braised in squid ink, garnished with citrus,” Sebastian says, introducing the dish.

I take a little bite. There's a deep, ocean-ey flavor, though it's made lighter with the tangerine zest and fruit wedges, along with a faint bitterness from the greens. I might not be sophisticated, but I eat out a lot. I know how to appreciate good food.

Something touches my thigh just as I'm about to try another piece, and I flinch, looking down into the face of a white bunny rabbit with violet eyes. He's smiling up at me from beneath the table, nuzzling between my legs.

“Wh...”

His slim white fingers begin to work at my belt. Frantically I try to bat his paws away.

“Does Pearl displease you, Nicholas?” Rufinius asks, and that's when I realize what he's offering.

“N-no!” I say firmly, though whether that's to the bunny under the table or my granddad I'm not sure. Pleasure and displeasure... are these two the _only_ feelings he ever has? It feels like I'm balancing on a knife's edge, and tilting the wrong way can get someone killed.

“It's just... I- I have a girlfriend...”

“I am well aware,” says Rufinius as he eats, just as I notice the tips of a pair of brown ears poking up beneath the edge of the table on his end as well. The only sign that anything is going on is the sigh he lets out, and the way he closes his eyes for a moment as he chews a piece of octopus. “The predilection you have for rabbits is in your blood.”

“I mean... what I'm saying is...” the bunny in front of me has held off, and he's looking up at me in confusion.

“I know perfectly well what you are saying. Yet you are a Frisk, Nicholas. You are unfettered by the crass morals and mores of lesser blood. But very well. For now I will allow you to seek comfort in the softness of your chosen lover. Know, however, that carnal pleasures of male flesh will serve to strengthen you much more. And males make for much more durable concubines.”

As if this day needs to get any more bizarre and terrifying.

“The Frisk family is descended from the Patricians of Rome,” he continues. “Yet while Rome was devoured by barbarians from without and corrupted by vagrant faiths from within, our empire persisted.”

I set my fork and knife down, focused on nudging the bunny away with my foot. He gets the hint and just rests his head on my knee, like a pet. I suppose so long as it doesn't go further than this I can manage.

I look over the table at dad now. There's no bunny sex slave bothering him, and that's an enormous relief. Despite everything I've seen today I still think of him as being married to Mom. He's just quietly eating, averting his eyes from me and Gramps here like he doesn't quite belong.

“You have never studied much Latin, have you, Nicholas?”

“No.”

“So you do not know what 'Vulpes Sanguinis' means then?”

I reach back in my mind, trying to scrap together the word roots I did know. “Fox of course. And... blood?”

“Literally, the Foxes of the Blood. Yet when one considers the historical context, it refers to the Divine Right of Fox Blood,” Rufinius explains, “Our right to rule. Our right to be masters of our domains. But it also refers to the purity of our line. Most of those you saw in the atrium are Praetors of our branch family... they are the smartest, the strongest, the quickest. It is my duty as the Prince to see that our bloodline remains strong and uncorrupted.”

I roll his words in my head. Something's off about what he just said. My eyes pop open just as I realize what he's saying.

“Wait... by 'branch family' you mean...”

“Cousins, yes. Distant cousins of yours.” He reaches down then, patting the brown bunny between the ears. The sight's surreal and nauseating, and I can feel the octopus threatening to come back up.

“I was the youngest of my generation, and I fear I embraced my role as heir of the Frisk name late in life.” Those eyes of him grow misty as he stares off into the distance, and I can only hope that it's just because he's reminiscing. “But I grew up in an age of discovery, my boy. I was seventeen when Rosalind Furanklin uncovered the DNA double helix. I witnessed the birth of the molecular revolution. How could I have done anything _but_ pursued the field for its potential?

“I began my studies with roses. Easy to breed, and delightful to the eye. My siblings detested me for it... for a time they thought me a fop who cared only to play with flowers. I am fox enough to accept that they were right in some regards... lovely as they are there is little profit in roses. So I turned my attention to another species instead.”

That's when the white rabbit under the table turns to look up at me, his little mouth curving into an eager smile.

Rufinius must've recognized my expression, because his voice hardens as he levels a firm gaze at me. “It is the natural order of things, Nicholas. Rabbits are naturally submissive, and the fecundity of their species is second to none. All it took was a keen mind and the vision to see the project through. Some bloodlines have been disappointments, true... but others I preserved and refined. You will find my work in the bedchambers of the wealthy in Zootopia, to the pleasure parlors of Tigria and beyond. The Floral Spot, the Silver Coal, the Caramel Silk and the Opal Oak... all my work.”

He glances down towards my lap now, noting the bunny nuzzling against my knee. “Pearl seems to have taken a shine to you, Nicholas. Consider him my gift to you.”

“I... you've been too hospitable already...” I insist, waving him off. “Please, I couldn't... I don't even know where I'd keep him!”

“Quarters have already been arranged for you. He will stay with you there whenever you visit.”

Before I can protest any further, the bunny servants bring in the main course. They remove my half-eaten appetizer plate and set a new one in front of me. It takes a moment to recognize it. These meaty fillets, swimming in a thick dark sauce are from the eels I saw swimming in the tanks earlier.

“Matelote d'anguille bourguignonne,” says Sebastian. “Eel braised in a red wine...”

He pauses then, as he looks into the dish.

“Carrots,” Rufinius says with sharp displeasure. “I despise carrots.”

And indeed, mixed into the sauce are bright orange carrot slivers, along with pearl onions and mushrooms.

“Who is the chef who prepared this dish?” There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

“Apologies, my Prince,” Sebastian says hastily, “But he's new. I made quite clear your opinion on the matter, but it appears to have slipped his mind.”

“T-they're not so bad, really!” I say cheerfully. Even though I've lost my appetite I jab my fork into one of the carrot bits and pop it into my mouth. “They're rich in vitamin A, aren't they?”

“They are _legumes oublies_ ,” Rufinius says with a sneer. “The forgotten vegetables. Roots and tubers eaten in periods of deprivation and hardship, fit only for the impoverished and the low-born even in the best of times. I was born just before the war, and I have had my fill of carrots. It is an insult. Never again.”

“I... I think they're great!” I say, continuing to eat. I must look like a real idiot now, stuffing my cheeks with carrots like this. At this point though I'm trying to do everything I can to save this chef's life.

Rufinius looks at me, and he settles back into his seat.

“Give the chef a gentle reminder,” Rufinius says. His tone has lost its edge. “That such garbage is barred from the Twilight Cathedral.”

“At once, my Prince,” Sebastian says, and he slips through the door the bunny servants had entered from.

I set my fork down and push the plate away. If the boss isn't eating, I better not continue. It's just rude, and I'm guessing Rufinius here puts heavy emphasis on manners. I breathe a sigh of relief though, hoping that 'a gentle reminder' actually means what it sounds like. I might've just saved four lives today, but nothing about this feels good.

I can't help but wonder what the turnover rate is down here.

For a while we continue to sit in silence, the tension thick as jelly. When Rufinius finally speaks again his voice has a weight to it.

“Your family needs you, Nicholas.”

I put my paws up defensively. “I... honestly don't think I can help you... my Prince,” the title sounds weirdly antiquated, and the moment I say it it feels like I'm on the stage of a Ren Faire. “I mean, I'm not built for this. I'm not refined or classy or any of the things you are.”

“You have the rightful heritage. All you lack is the education and training,” Rufinius says firmly, “Though in truth your greatest duty has nothing to do with your mannerisms. Our bloodline has thinned to a trickle, Nicholas. Twenty-two years ago the great feuds between the First Families of Zootopia broke into all-out war. My brothers and my sister were killed, as were their sons and daughters. I never truly expected to take control of the Sanguinis, and as a result I'd only sired one son. A son who betrayed his bloodline.”

Twenty-two years... I do the math quickly in my head. I was eleven then. That was when Mom told me about the car accident. I look over at Dad in shock, but he's hanging his head like he's ashamed.

“We Frisks are stronger, faster, and more cunning than any other fox. Perhaps more cunning than any mammal alive. Yet there is a price for our blood purity. By the third decade of our lives we are struck by an incurable infertility. By the time our bloodline needed to be renewed it became impossible for me to sire another heir, and Jacob had abandoned his name and his filial duty in the name of love.”

“So you... you recruited him...” I murmur. “You had no other choice if you wanted to continue to family line...”

“Yes. But Jacob too was in decline by then,” he looks up to me now, “In truth I had written you off as a half-breed, my boy. Unfit and unworthy to carry the Frisk name. I had been planning on taking in a member of the branch family instead, as loathesome as the idea was. Until of course I learned about how you managed the Shepsfield affair.”

My mind races. How _had_ they figured it out? Have they been watching me this whole time? Or maybe somehow they knew about Charlie and Marcus, and milked the truth out of them somehow? No... no, the easiest thing to do would've been to break into Doc Conall's office and peruse his file on me. I'd confessed everything to him in my sessions after all. If the truth on Shepsfield was recorded anywhere in the world, it was in that manila envelope.

And then another fresh realization dawns on me.

“That was _you_!” I gasp, “That wasn't some prison shanking! You _ordered_ Shepsfield killed!”

“The sheep dared to harm a Frisk, Nicholas. I couldn't allow that insult to go unanswered. That said, I have high hopes. Perhaps we need a half-breed after all... on occasion fresh genetic material is required to renew the pedigree. And now that you've joined the Vulpes Sanguinis, I've selected several vixens for you to...”

“Wait wait wait,” I interrupt him, which is probably the stupidest thing I could possibly do right now. But I'm frantic, and my mind's buckling under the weight of everything I have to absorb for the moment. “You said they're from the branch families right, with all this pure blood talk? You mean I'm going to be paired with my _cousins_?”

“Distant cousins. You will grow accustomed to the idea, Nicholas.”

“I... look, my... my Prince?” I say, in a tone as sweet and pleading as possible. “I'm _really_ not the fox you want here. I mean, you've gotta have someone in the branch families who could take my place, right? Keep it... keep it all in the family as it were.” It takes me a moment to realize how gross that sounds. “Please. I'm just a stupid former con artist who's never amounted to anything in life. Just leave me out of this all... I'll quit the task force, go back to being a small time cop. Savage hates me anyway.”

Rufinius stares at me for a moment, as an icy trickle crawls down the back of my neck. My God I'm sweating like a pig.

“Milo?” he says, and one of the panthers at the door perks up, pupils shrinking back in fear.

“Y-yes my Prince?”

“Bring me the PawPad on the wine cupboard. Oliver? You come here as well.”

The two teenage panthers head over to us, one stopping at the cupboard to pick up the PawPad. He brings it over to Rufinius. The old tod turns it on and begins to flick through the screen. There's that stereotype that old folks are bad with technology, but Rufinius's fingers, so deft at playing the glass armonica, searches through the apps with the same agility you'd see in a twenty-year-old.

He passes it over to me.

At first I don't recognize what it's showing. The video feed is a grainy black-and-white, and it's at an odd angle. But there's no mistaking it when I recognize the stuffed animals on the bed, the pictures of bunnies hanging on the wall.

It's Judy's apartment.

I look up at Rufiniius with wide-eyed horror, but he points at the screen with a stern finger. There, at the window, I see a shadow move. And that's the only way I can describe it... a shadow. His fur is pitch black, so flat and unreflective that he could've melted completely into the darkness. The figure's kneeling, fingers exploring the frame. Judy's apartment is three floors up. She's never had to lock her window before.

The glass panel slides open and the black fox slips in silently, closing the window behind him. For a moment he glances up at the camera with cold silver eyes, the way Dad had done on the security footage. He wants me to see.

His paw reaches down to his belt, and he unsheathes a long knife.

“No!” I yelp.

“Restrain him, Oliver.”

A thick, meaty paw wraps around my body then, while another grips my muzzle and clamps my mouth shut.

“MMPFH! _MMMPFHHH!_ ”

“Keep watching, Nicholas.”

Kneeling, the fox... no, not a fox. A _monster_. A fucking demon of the night, crouches and slips under Judy's bed. My heart's racing, I'm trying to yowl through Oliver's grip, and I can hear the pulse pounding in my ears like a great drum. My paws scrabble at the thick feline arm gripping me tight. My nostrils flare as I suck down oxygen with increasing desperation.

The door to Judy's apartment opens then, and the video shows the two of us walking in. I'm touching her head, and she's undoing my tie. I remember that concerned look on her face, the way worry and arousal had blended on her features. This'd only happened a few hours ago when the two of us returned to the apartment after work, when we were consoling each other after what we'd seen in the warehouse fire.

I'm undressing her now. At the time I'd thought of how precious she was. Judy Hopps... only I got to see her in the buff, I thought. Only I really knew the shape of her beneath the uniform. But someone had been watching the whole time, and someone had been waiting under the bed, even as we flopped down on it. The bedsprings begin to creak.

We were having sex, and right beneath us an assassin was lying in wait.

If I thought I'd known terror when Sebastian had that sniper on me, or when I had to face my cold, Machiavellian Granddad, I was fucking wrong. This... _this_ is the most horrifying thing I've ever seen in my life. Knowing that me and Judy were inches from death, that even in the most intimate of spaces Rufinius can send his murderers after us...

Judy's moaning softly in the video now. Her heels are digging into the sheets.

A quiet fox I can understand. Someone who can control his breathing, keep perfectly still so a bunny wouldn't be able to hear... that's difficult, yet perfectly possible. But how hadn't I smelled him? How had I not gotten a _whiff_ of a strange tod hiding in the room, right beneath the bed we were making love on?

Rufinius reaches over and taps a few buttons on the pad now, and the video feed switches to one of Judy lying on the bed, asleep. In her paws she's gripping that plush fox, the one wearing the Pawaiian shirt and tie her sisters had sewn for her. The one with that crumpled police badge sticker she'd picked up off the ground. Judy's chest rises and falls with a slow, soft rhythm.

Rufinius adjusts his tie, and a small microphone pokes out from the seam.

“Mr. Smythe? You can come out now.”

A black paw reaches out from beneath the bed, like a monster clawing out from the shadows in a horror movie. Slowly, quietly, the black fox that Rufinius had called Mr. Smythe slips out, ever aware of making a sound and waking up Judy. He gets to his feet in absolute silence, the hilt of the dagger cluched between his teeth. He stares down then, at the precious little bunny sleeping on the bed. So sweet. So innocent...

“Oliver,” Rufinius says simply. The paws gripping me let go.

I fall to the floor in an instant, paws clasped in front of me. “PLEASE!” I beg frantically, gasping for breath. “I'll do anything you want! Anything! Don't hurt her! PLEASE don't hurt her!”

“Mr. Smythe,” Rufinius says in that same flat tone, “You may withdraw.”

And like a black ghost the fox pulls open the window and slips out.

I'm panting heavily, trembling on all fours. A cold sweat is dripping down my nose, and my spine feels like a crackling bridge of ice. The tears fall freely, every ounce of self-control in me is gone as I sob helplessly.

“Get up, Nicholas. Get up.”

Milo reaches down then and helps me back to my feet, though I have to hold onto him to keep from collapsing. It's too much. It's all too fucking much...

“I have no wish to cause you pain, Nicholas. However, I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that my plans proceed. Now, we must discuss security. Being on the ZIA task force means that you will be walking a fine line between them and us, and you must take measures to protect yourself,” he says. I barely hear him. My mind's still trying to process what'd just happened.

“Give him a moment, my Prince,” dad says as he takes me by the arm. We're heading out the door now, with Rufinius leading the way.

“Yes, a few minutes to freshen himself will do some good.” Once we reach the double-doors though, the Prince glances back over his shoulder. “Oh and Milo? Oliver? Head to my bedchamber. I'll be having the pair of you over for tonight.”

The two cats glance at each other then, the fear and apprehension bright in their eyes. I can't spare them any sympathy right now though.

I'm just trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to get out of this.

 

~~~~~

 

Half an hour later I'm lying in bed in the room they'd prepared for me. The mattress is too big and too soft, though the burgundy sheets are silk. The cool bedding helps sap some of the warmth from my body.

I scratch the side of my head. It feels weird, having the earpieces implanted so deep down so they're out of view. The middle-aged vixen who installed 'em had to use tweezers. She seemed nice enough.

 

_“These will allow fer two-way communication,” Dr. Rhona Allister said as she introduced me to my new double-agent gear. She had a mild Scottish brogue when she spoke. “Th' batteries should last fifty-two hours, so yeh'll need t' return t' get 'em replaced with fully charged ones every two days.”_

_“But remember: we'll be recording everything the earpieces pick up,” Sebastian added with a smile. “In addition, your emails and your cell phone are being monitored, so don't even think of alerting the ZIA. If we catch a whiff of treason, Ms. Hopps will die. Slowly.”_

_I nodded vigorously._

_“These,” said Dr. Allister, handing me a pill bottle, “Are a cocktail o' Modafinil and low-dose Dextroamphetamine. Take one every twelve hours t' reduce the need for sleep t' one hour a night.”_

_“Standard issue,” Sebastian added, “You'll perform your duties for the ZIA by day, and return to us by night.”_

_“And these,” Dr. Allister gave me another pill bottle along with two small spray cans, “Are yer scent mask tablets. Taken regularly they'll reduce exocrine gland activity and almost completely mute yer natural fox scent.”_

_“Just like with Mr. Smythe...” I muttered under my breath. So that's how he was able to stay in hiding without me smelling him._

_“Precisely,” said Sebastian. “However, we can't have you running around without any scent whatsoever. That would be terribly suspicious. The first spray canister contains artificial fox musk. Apply it after every shower and every few hours as needed. The second can is a neutralizer, if you need to disappear.”_

 

There's a knock at the door, and my heart skips a beat. I'm afraid of who it might be.

“Nick? It's me,” Dad says through the door.

Most of the kits I'd known in school gradually picked up on their parents' limitations as they hit adolescence, started to notice their mistakes. Me though... I was eleven when mom told me about the car accident... just old enough to develop solid memories and bonds with my dad, but too young to have learned to resent him. All my memories of him had been pristine, gilded in nostalgia.

This though... I don't know what the hell to do with this.

For a moment I entertain the idea of telling him to fuck off. Give him a dose of the moody teen that he missed out on. I'm more mature than that though... and definitely smarter. Right now I can't afford to push anyone away.

“Come in,” I mutter.

At first it seems I was too quiet for him to have heard me, but nope, the doorknob clicks as he enters with a small white bunny in tow. Pearl pads over wearing only a silken loincloth and an assortment of golden bracelets and armbands. With his head bowed, he sashays over to a corner of the room with a light jingling sound, turns around, and kneels quietly.

I don't give him a second glance. He's melted into the background, like a piece of furniture.

“I realize this is a shock,” Dad begins as he sits down on the bed next to me, “and honestly, it probably would've been best if I never came back into your life. But if I might be a bit selfish for a moment, I have to say... it's good to see you again, son.”

“I don't even know who you are, Dad,” My voice is cracking again. This isn't the father I'd known. He's nothing like the Dad who'd done everything he could to stay legit, tried to set the best example he could for a fox like me. It's like some cold, heartless mobster is wearing his skin, and the sight of him scares me even as it makes me want to reach out and touch his arm, to see if he was real.

I sniff and scrub my eyes. I thought that I'd cried out all the tears I had an hour ago. After seeing that assassin get so close to Judy, standing over her with the knife... I'd broken down in the restroom, bawling hysterically with my arms wrapped around the toilet. Frankly, I'm surprised I hadn't vomited.

“Nick...” Dad sighs deeply. “Twenty years ago, I was the only child of the youngest son of the Frisks... your grandfather never expected to have to take the reins. There was no way I'd be called upon to be an heir, so I thought it was safe for me to leave. To live my own life. My father disowned me of course, but I was fine with that.”

I ruffle the silk sheets under me with a paw, and lift my head to look at the gilded antique furniture. “The money would've been nice, though.”

And for the first time since I was a child, I hear dad chuckling again. It's a sound that doesn't suit him anymore. “Yeah. The old tailor shop... what did we call it again?”

“Suitopia.”

“God that was an awful name.”

“I always liked it. I still do,” I say defensively.

Dad blinks. “Well... can't say I never had any good ideas then.”

For a while he just sits there while I stay lying on the sheets. The silence is thick and awkward.

“How's your mother?”

“Probably worried for me because of the dropped call. I'll have to text her back later.” And to think, I could've been sleeping in my old bed right now, with a tummy full of cobbler. And hot cocoa, with marshmallow bits.

“I must've put her through hell,” Dad sighs. “I'd try to make it up to her, but frankly I'm not sure involving myself in her life is a good idea right now. Hell, I _know_ I didn't want to come back into yours like this.”

“No offense, but I can't disagree with you there, Dad.”

“Nick...” he sighs, “Please believe me, I wasn't always like this. The father you knew back then... that'd been the real me. It's why I thought I could never live in this world, why I never wanted to be a Praetor. Your grandfather... he'd always said I was soft. Weak. I hadn't cared about his opinion at the time. But the problem is this side of the family is an old one, and that means we had old grudges. I don't suppose you remember what happened in 1995?”

I scrape the back of my mind, trying to think back on my childhood. I remember Toy Story and Porkahontas coming out... they'd been big news on the playground. The O.J. Stoatson trial. Us kids at the time hadn't been that interconnected or up to date with current events. All we knew about was stuff being directly marketed to us, or the big highlight stories in the news.

“There'd been twelve other families like ours, Nick,” Dad explains when I draw up a blank. “Old aristocratic families that... well, it doesn't matter. They're all dead now. Your grandfather made sure of that. But he lost his his older siblings that year, which meant that I turned out to be the sole legitimate heir. So I was dragged back into being a Frisk. It was tough, the transition. But all the softness my father saw in me... he hammered it all out.”

I look up at him. Doc Conall had said something about that once. “ _Time hammers the innocence out of all of us Nick. And we still deserve to be loved._ ”

“Dad, I... I don't want to be...”

“I'm sorry, Nick. You don't have a choice,” he says, his voice suddenly stern. The way his tone changes so quickly is like hearing the crack of a whip, and I sit up, shocked. “You're about to set on a dangerous path, but I'll help you get to the end. There's no point in trying to escape. Those earbuds you're wearing are recording this entire conversation. There are cameras in this room, and throughout the entire Twilight Cathedral. And whenever possible, there'll be a Praetor keeping an eye on you. You are being watched, and all we can do now is ensure that you are safe.”

My blood runs cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> My biggest concern was that this chapter was gonna be too exposition-heavy, so I hope I was giving Nick enough agency here to round things out a bit. Another fun little detail is that once again we see what's happening with Milo and Oliver. They're really growing on me as side characters, and you'll be seeing more POV chapters from Milo in a bit. He has a minor plot arc I'll be exploring behind Jack and Nick.
> 
> You guys might also notice by now that I am a total foodie and I love my fine cuisine. While I pretty much made up these dishes on the spot, flavorwise I'm quite confident they'd work. I'd love to get my hands on these ingredients sometime and try them out. Maybe I'll even make a Zootopia cookbook!
> 
> I also really love the trope of a modern leader who abandons more civilized social mores in meetings. It really highlights their views about their own personal power: that they as rulers of their own little domains are so above everyone else that they can do even the most based, debauched things on a whim. President Lyndon B. Johnson for example was pretty well-known for holding cabinet meetings while he was taking a dump. And of course there's all the stories involving his penis:
> 
> http://www.ranker.com/list/lyndon-johnson-penis-obsession-stories/mel-judson
> 
> So please note here that I'm not including the below-the-table blowjob just to be crass or racy. But rather, it's meant to be a commentary on power and how it interlaces (or in this case, doesn't) interlace with the broader society: something we're seeing a revival of now with certain political figures I won't bother naming. It's about thinking you're so powerful that you can do anything. It's about a leader who thinks he is far, far above the most basic of rules and expects others to fall in line and passively accept it.
> 
> With penis.


	13. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy and Danny have an intimate conversation, as does Nick and Judy

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

I wake up in the morning feeling hung over and ashamed.

My legs are tucked up against Danny's rump, with my morning wood nestling comfortably right beneath his tail. He's pulled my arm over his body, and snuggled up in front of him is Luke. How they can sleep like that, breathing in each other's faces, is beyond me. I hate it when I feel a lover's breath tickling my muzzle in the middle of the night.

I sigh. It'd happened again.

Crawling out of the bed I drag myself away from the duo and totter to the restroom. There, in front of the mirror, I gaze into my reflection as I let the shower run, waiting for it to steam up.

It's not all that uncommon among twins, you know. You're so close to each other, starting from the day you're conceived. You were once one cell that'd split into embryos, literally two halves of a whole. In the early years your parents even have trouble telling you apart, and you're identical to the point that it doesn't seem strange to experiment. Hell, up until we hit puberty it felt perfectly normal to be in the nude together. We showered together, got dressed in front of one another, and if we were feeling a little playful, we'd do more than that.

Gramma once caught us together when we were kids, and she went old-school on us. Whipped our little asses raw. For a while, one of us had to sleep in her room until she was convinced that we'd learned boundaries. Not that it worked, mind you.

But what a solid ass-beating couldn't solve, time did.

By freshman year in high school our class schedules had diverged to the point that we only shared homeroom together. So five hours out of the day (not including lunch or our morning break) we were apart from one another. Puberty was in full swing too, and for the first time we started to really develop as individuals, with different groups of friends. I was surprised to learn by sophomore year that Danny had decided to join the drama club. Me, I got into sports, and became one of those guys that lingers after school to use the gym for the half-hour that coach leaves it open. That meant even more time to find myself.

Our bodies began to develop differently. As always Danny was curious and wanted to explore those differences. It was the first time we'd done so in a while. Yet while he was purring happily in the sheets when we finished, all I came away with that night was guilt.

Halfway into Senior year I got my first and only girlfriend. Took her home when Gramma was out, and just as I was putting the mattress through the ringer with her, Danny casually walked in on us, gave a cheeky grin, and asked if he could join. Gabrielle seemed fine when I tossed his ass out, and we even finished up completely satisfied as far as I could tell. Yet days later she broke up with me. Never gave a reason, but I knew damn well why.

For the rest of my high school career I had no luck with any of the other girls. Rumors floated around the school about me and my brother, though it was hard to know exactly what they were when mammals would look away once I saw them whispering. Even my buddies on the football team acted like they didn't know what I was talking about when I asked.

When we graduated it became clear that Danny couldn't take care of himself. Left to his own devices my twin brother would just smoke nip and mess around with the string of boyfriends he brought over. It wasn't like he was trying to rub his sex life in my face or anything. In fact, he tried to be discreet about it. But when I did catch him in the act he and his fuckbuddy for the night would beckon me over to join 'em, and... well...

Look, I didn't want to, I swear, but I was a horny teen. And now and again I would just lapse.

Anyway, we had to stick together when we decided to move to Zootopia for bold new opportunities. It was a simple fact. Even Gramma was in favor of the idea, knowing all the trouble Danny might get into if left to his own devices. Even when he got a real job and a more-or-less regular boyfriend I knew he was too irresponsible to live on his own. But like a good brother I just sucked it up, dealt with it as best I could. In the time I had to myself though I hunkered down, focused on becoming a cop.

Being a police officer is about sacrifices after all. Sometimes it's as simple as losing a full night's sleep, or having to work over the holidays because emergencies don't take a break. And sometimes it's a matter of staying single for the foreseeable future, because what kind of a tiger could bring a gal to this den of crazy?

The water's finally warm enough. I step into the shower.

Before I soap up I reach down and begin to take care of myself. You'd think after everything we'd done last night I'd be too spent to really crank one out, but I'm a healthy tiger. One paw pressed against he tiles, the other tugging away, I let out a hard grunt as I finish. A quick scrub and a rinse, and the physical evidence is swirling down the drain, while the steam is taking care of the scent in the air.

When I finally finish scrubbing up I give myself a good spray of Musk Mask, and step out with the towel around my shoulders to air dry before I get dressed.

And there in the living room just as naked (if not quite as damp) is Danny, sitting at the kitchen table with two mugs. I can smell the masala chai from where I'm standing.

He smiles at me, but I just grunt and step into my room to get changed.

I'm not naive enough to think that Danny would leave me alone, and I'm not crass enough to lock my door in his face. So really, knowing he's gonna barge in and yet not doing anything about it I shouldn't have any right to be annoyed when he enters without permission. Yet I am.

I've pulled my shirt on, and I'm beginning to button up when Danny slips in behind me. His paws slide up along my sides before cupping my meaty pectorals, the product of a strict gym regimen for ten years. Danny's always loved my upper body.

He reaches down then, and I nudge his paw away.

“I took care of it in the shower.”

“Aw you didn't have to do that...” he says, perching up on his toes and giving the back of my ear a playful lick. An electric tingle runs down along the curve of my skull. I wince. “You know I like to have fresh cream with my morning chai...”

Gazing over my shoulder, he sees me scowling in the mirror and backs off just a hair. His paws move to adjust my collar as I begin to do up my tie.

“So...” he says casually. “Last night was intense.”

“I was drunk. Don't put too much thought into it.”

“You talking about going batshit and tossing a thousand bucks of nip, or what we did after?”

“Both. Whatever.” God, Danny. Can't you just lay off?

“I've seen you drunk, Benjy. You knew what you were doing, so don't try to deny it.”

Danny's arms slip around my waist again, but this time he's just trying to hold me in a comforting hug.

“Stop it...” I say, pulling out of his grip. “I said stop it! You _know_ I don't like that!”

Danny snorts. “Jeez, bro. Luke's totally zonked out. It's just the two of us right now.”

“You're my _brother_ ," I say firmly as I pull on my pants. “We should've ended this when we were kids. Fuck, we never should've _started_.”

Danny crosses his arms now, and levels a flat stare at me. “I know you don't really feel that way.”

“You don't know how I feel.”

“Of course I do. I'm your brother.”

I turn, and the look on my face must've been frightening, because Danny's eyes widen, and he actually takes a step back and begins to put up a paw as if he feels like he needs to defend himself. “That's _exactly_ why we shouldn't... why it's wrong to... argh!” I growl. How the hell do we share the same genes? How can he be so fucking _thick_? Am _I_ this stubborn too?

“Look...” I grumble, slipping my belt through the loops of my pants. “I gotta get to work. I'm not in the mood to talk about this right now.”

“Benjy?” Danny says gently, somewhat more timid now. “Why don't you take the day off? After what happened... don't you think you need a break?”

“I've seen bad shit before. And so have the other officers who were on the scene. I'll be fine,” I grumble, checking myself in the mirror. Besides, I don't wanna be put on a psych leave. The thought itself is humiliating.

“Dude, just call in. Take a sick day at least.”

I glance at Danny's reflection in the mirror. “Do I seriously have to remind you I'm on the ZIA task force?”

“Well maybe you should quit.”

“What?” I turn to look at him. For a second I have to think and figure out if he _seriously_ just said that to me. “You want me to quit working alongside the ZIA? Just like that?”

“Actually...” Danny says, rubbing his arm with a paw. “I want you to quit being a cop entirely.”

My blue eyes meet his, and for once I recognize nothing of myself in him. The features might've been the same, but everything about us had become so fundamentally _different_ that it doesn't seem like we're twins after all. Hell, it doesn't even seem like we're related whatsoever.

“Are you fucking _high_ right now?”

Danny looks away, as if ashamed to meet my gaze. “Benjy... I've been wanting to ask you for this ever since the Lone Digger. That night your clothes were torn, you were covered in blood. And when I saw the bodies being wheeled out...”

He shivers. “That was the night I realized that one of these days... I might lose you.”

I scrub a paw over my head and sigh. “Bro, I'm trained to take care of myself. And not to brag or anything, but I'm one of the toughest guys on the squad. I mean I once knocked out McHorn in the boxing ring, and he's a rhino.”

“Yeah? Well I doubt mobsters are the type who'd invite you to solve your differences by sparring. They're not random street thugs, man. These guys'll have guns. They might even be fucked up on Blue. And I'm guessing from the fact that they _burn mammals alive_ that they've made a career out of _murder_.”

“I'm fighting alongside fifty other ZPD officers, man. Plus a bunch of ZIA agents. Best of the best.”

“You don't fucking _get it_ , do you?!” Danny snaps. “You know how many times you stayed out late on patrol, and I gotta wonder if some crazed Blue user tore your throat out? Or if some pimp shot you and left you to die in the street?! And now if you gotta go on a stakeout or whatever bullshit you're doing with the ZIA I gotta stay awake at night and pray you haven't been _chained to a fucking pipe and set on fire?!_ ”

“Danny...” I reach out towards him. He's got his face in his paws, making soft choking sounds as he scrubs his cheeks.

“Please Benjy,” he snuffles, clutching my shoulders now, “I just _know_ that if you keep doing this something bad's gonna happen...”

“It's gonna be fine...” I murmur. “I shouldn't have told you all that shit last night, little bro. If I weren't so fucking drunk-”

“Stop it. Stop using that as an excuse.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Look, if it upsets you so much I'll think about it, all right? Just... promise me you won't talk to anyone about the fire. Even if you're just repeating stuff on the news. A couple of the things I let slip are classified intel, and I can't risk you accidentally mentioning that to anyone.”

“Or... you know, I could always...”

My eyebrows furrow. “If you go to the ZPD and try to get me fired I will never fucking forgive you.”

He sniffs. “Well... it was just a thought.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Today Nick wants to try getting in touch with some of his guys who were regulars in the area where the fire took place. He's being pretty vague on the details. They might be legitimate factory workers or mechanics who know the area, but it could just as easily be drifters or small-time criminals. Sometimes, it's best not to ask.

Me... I slump into the seatbelt as our patrol car makes the crawl down the lane. Morning traffic along this road is awful, and it's even worse since I'm so exhausted from last night. I'm not alone though... Nick and Benjy hadn't looked too great for our morning briefing. The both of them have dark circles under their eyes. Benjy's slouching a bit in his seat and Nick's downing enough coffee to jump-start a dead mule.

I hadn't slept well at all, not without Nick cuddling up to me. I'd just gotten so used to his presence in my bed... being with him is basically like curling up with a whole fluffle with his body and muzzle and tail around mine.

Of course, it wasn't just him not being there that left me feeling like this. I hadn't seen so many bodies until yesterday. A whole baker's dozen, charred and posed like they'd been alive when it happened... it was no wonder Nick freaked out so bad. Granted the Lone Digger had about as high a body count, but even then at least the darkness and nightclub lighting had made the scene more surreal. That, and all we'd done was tranq the perps, we never had to examine the gruesome scene.

I knew in my head that someday I might have to deal with a homicide. I'd mentally prepared for that scenario. But I think deep down I never really _believed_ it'd happen. It was something you studied about in textbooks, not something you had to deal with in real life.

“Kinda makes you miss Bunnyburrow, doesn't it Carrots?” Nick yawns as he puts an arm over my shoulder. We're actually sharing the same seat, even using the same seat belt right now. Benjy's the one doing the driving.

“Well,” I sigh, leaning against him. Good thing no one can see us. I'm just glad Benjy doesn't call us out for our PDAs when we're on patrol, even when he isn't too tired to talk. “Things'd be much quieter, definitely.”

“Carrot Days Festival is this Friday, isn't it?” Nick sighs. “Boy I wish we could go see it this year.”

“Really? I kinda felt like it'd be a little too... _country_ for you.”

“You kiddin'? I love local festivals. The rides, the baked goods, the cotton candy and funhouses. Plus it'd be great to see Cory again. He seems like a really great guy. Plus I think Buster owes me a rematch on the basketball court. Baseball with the younger kits would be nice too...”

I look up at him. “I didn't realize you liked my family so much.”

“Well, if growing up with 'em made you who you are today, of course I'm gonna love your family,” he gives me a squeeze.

“Are you _trying_ to make me homesick?” I laugh.

“Come on, Carrots, how about it? Nice little weekend trip out of the City. Maybe even stay a little while longer.”

“Don't think Agent Savage would like that,” I chuckle.

“No, he wouldn't. But who cares about his opinion anyway?”

I nudge his arm off my shoulder then and look up at him suspiciously. “Nick... what are you doing right now?”

“I dunno, what am I doing?” he says, shooting me his slacker's grin.

“I'm not in the mood for your teasing today, Nick,” I huff. “Are you _trying_ to get me to quit the task force?”

Nick just sits there for a good long moment, his paws folded in his lap. He hangs his head, and speaks in a quiet voice.

“There's no shame in wanting to go back, you know.”

“Wh- of course there is!” I'm really getting annoyed now. “Nick you know me better than this! Do you know how hard I had to work to get on the force as a bunny? What'll everyone think if I'm the first to quit just because things got a little scary yesterday?”

“Ha! A _little_ scary?” Nick scoffs. “This is _way_ more than what any of us signed up for, Carrots. We were just supposed to bust a few drug-dealing sheep, and now we're getting dragged into... into some kinda mob war!”

“That's _exactly_ why the city needs good cops!” I sigh and take his paw in mine. I give it a little squeeze. “Nick if this is getting to be too much for you I don't wanna keep you here.”

It really isn't fair to him. Sure Nick's a great cop, but he hadn't dreamed about this job his entire life. He hadn't dedicated himself to it the way I have. He just kinda... fell into it. Sure it fits him really well, but I can't expect him to have the same drive I do.

“Carrots...” he sighs. “Judy. I'm just... really scared for you. If you ever got hurt I... I don't think I'd ever be able to get over that. Please, just go back home for a little while, until this all gets worked out, okay?”

Benjy glances down at the both of us. I feel so bad for the guy right now... it's like he's always ending up as our third wheel.

“Nick, _I'm_ one of the mammals who's supposed to help 'get this worked out.' Just because I'm a bunny, and a female...” I sigh. “I'm tired of you trying to make decisions for both of us. Benjy, can you help back me up on this?”

“Actually...” he mumbles, “I've been thinking of quitting too.”

The both of us look up at him in surprise.

“What?” I gasp.

“I kinda... freaked out last night,” he mumbles, “Got drunk and busted up the apartment. After what happened at the warehouse... look I'm not proud of it, but I was pretty messed up. It scared the shit out of Danny.”

“Maybe... maybe you should talk to Doc Conall,” I say hesitantly. Guys are always so ridiculously sensitive about being told they need to talk to a shrink.

And sure enough he snorts. “No, I'm not crazy. It's just... Danny started going off about how it keeps him up at night, not knowing what's happening to me when I'm out on patrol. Scared I'll get injured or killed. And with thirteen sheep burned alive in what looks like a mob hit...” he sighs, “He really busted out the waterworks this morning.”

“Jeez,” Nick murmurs, “Poor guy.”

For a moment I sit there, mulling it over. Things had been so hectic I hadn't had time to call mom and dad last night. They're probably opening up the morning paper right now in fact, and they might be just as scared for me as poor Danny was. Or as scared as poor Nick is.

But no. I can't leave when our work's only just beginning. That's not who I am.

“I'm staying on the task force,” I say firmly. “You guys need to make your own decisions, and I'll definitely respect whatever it is. But I can't give up, even if this case isn't the one we expected.”

Benjy chuckles and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I'm like, five years your senior, Hopps. I can hardly quit if you're gonna keep chugging along.”

Nick sighs, “And someone's gotta help make sure your fluffy butt doesn't get into trouble in the streets.”

“Guys,” I look up at the both of them, “really, don't let my choice affect your decisions.”

“Oh Carrots,” Nick says, almost too sweetly. “That's _exactly_ what being a guy is like. Getting dragged along by their gal's awful, awful decisions.” He looks up to Benjy then, “Women, am I right?”

The two of them share an insufferable grin and a fistbump before settling back down.

Me, I just sit there fuming. Yet as our patrol car continues to scoot through the traffic, I catch a glimpse of Nick's reflection in the window. I'm so annoyed that I almost miss it, but I've been with Nick long enough to recognize the worry in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I would've preferred to have a buffer section between Benjy and Judy's, but frankly it would've just been filler and I'd prefer to keep that to a minimum.
> 
> I've also been getting some questions about why Benjy is so incredibly intense as an individual. Hopefully his nature will unfold organically in the subsequent sections, but suffice it to say for now that he has a very Alpha Male attitude due to the way he was raised, in a culture that prioritizes honor and saving face, especially since for a long time he was the lead male of the household and had to take charge.
> 
> And despite the fact that Danny and Benjy seem to be polar opposites in many ways, they're still very similar to each other. Each one of them has a deep sense of brotherly obligation to the other, they're both very persistent, and they also have a great deal of trouble communicating their feelings.


	14. Nick's Vegetarian Diet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack places Nick under ZIA surveillance while he puts some groceries away.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“ _Wilde is approaching the building,_ ” reports Agent Huskins. I put my phone on mute for a moment.

“Damn it, Adrienne!” I snap, “I told you to get this set up _immediately_! This was a high priority!”

“I know! I know! I'm sorry!” Adrienne Mustela squeaks, typing at my computer console as fast as she can. “But you interrupted me when I was in the middle of something important! I have this new design for tactical goggles based off of the new Zoogle Glasses design, with infrared and low-light functionality along with velocity calculators and-”

“I don't care about your stupid side projects!” The little stoat can be such a goddamn spaz when it comes to taking orders. Almost as bad is the fact that while she's normally quiet as a mouse, the moment she starts explaining something she's working on she'll just keep gabbing away and it's just about impossible to get her to stop. Sometimes she'll even _follow you around_ explaining the mechanisms of whatever electronic doohickey she's got in her paws.

“- _then_ I had to go _back_ to ZIA headquarters because Skye said that I need to use the ultra-fine cameras. They're lower resolution but with the micro-scale lenses a fox wouldn't be able to spot 'em even when they're tucked in an air vent. _And_ of course with the signaling issues you get in the Rainforest District I had to amp up the transmitter. Plus we had to haul in the large batteries and then calibrate to make sure we get a good connection from where they're hidden...”

“Jack, calm down...” Skye says, holding me close. I'm squirming, halfheartedly trying to get out of her grip, but I know that throwing a tantrum wouldn't be of any use. Whereas Adrienne is the only one who can piss me off to the point that I'm shouting, Skye is the only one who can get me to calm down when I get like this.

“ _Wilde has entered the building,_ ” Huskins says over the phone.

“Thanks. Keep an eye on the building,” I tell him and hang up.

“Done!” Adrienne squeaks, opening up a window showing the feed from surveillance camera she'd hidden. Not two seconds later, our fox in question comes in through the door to his apartment.

This was the only camera we'd been able to install in his place for now. Turns out Wilde lives in the basement of a house owned by a big fat grizzly bear who's pretty much permanently glued to his couch. Unless we darted the guy we wouldn't be able to place cameras anywhere else.

That, and it's a matter of legal procedure. Seraphine had promised Bogo we'd stick to legal ZPD protocols, and putting a suspect under surveillance without a warrant is already dragging the situation out of Zootopian civil law and into the State Security Act's territory. I'd rather not have to beg for any more allowances.

Plus getting Skye to slip herself, Adrienne, and the equipment into the narrow window of his room, one that overlooked a cliff no less, had been another ordeal. Which, granted, was exactly what Adrienne said was giving her so much trouble, just in way more words than were needed.

I sigh in relief. “Sorry for snapping, Adrienne...” I really mean it, too. “This is just an incredibly important part of the case.”

“I swear, the next time you get like that I'm issuing a hostile work environment complaint to Mammalian Resources,” she growls as she hops out of her chair to let me sit down. “Anyway, I've patched the feed to the ZIA servers for archiving and you can assign someone to do some round-the-clock monitoring. The connection might stutter a bit during scheduled rainfall, but I think I compensated for most of that. Batteries should last two weeks, so we'll have to infiltrate again and change 'em on a semimonthly schedule.”

“Thanks,” I sigh, “I really do appreciate your work, Adrienne.”

“Do you seriously think this guy is with the VS?” Skye asks as Wilde drags in a bag of groceries. “You'd think he'd be... I dunno, more well-off.”

And indeed, Wilde's apartment is even worse of a shithole than I imagined. A nest of rusty pipes snake overhead, and by the presence of the dozen pots and pans to catch drips I'm pretty sure that renting the space out as an apartment is a violation of several municipal codes. He doesn't even has a proper bed... the closest thing to it seems to be the open drawer in the corner with a pile of messy blankets and what I can only assume is a drool-stained pillow.

He turns to the fridge then, and begins stacking the groceries on the shelves. From the angle I can't see the interior of the fridge... we'll have to maybe install another camera on the other side of the room later. Bell peppers, avocados, some eggs, a boxed salad... Hmm. Intel was right. He really _is_ a vegetarian fox.

He puts a loaf of garlic bread in the freezer. Skye nudges me with her elbow and smirks, knowing damn well I live off of the same crap.

The last thing to come out of the grocery bag is an eggplant. Wilde takes it and trots over to the counter, setting it down as he undoes his tie just enough to pull the loop over his head. He hangs it on a hook as he begins whistling. I recognize the tune from Gazelle's recent album.

So far, so boring. Great, I just snapped at Adrienne to get me a feed of Wilde prepping eggplant parm for dinner.

There's a knock at the door, and through the frosted glass window I see a silhouette of a wolf holding a folder.

“Come in, Lenny.”

“Hey Jack, I got the forensics report on the sheep,” he says. “Looks like Sebastian Dusk's work all right. Sick bastard kept 'em alive while he tortured 'em for info. We're still running DNA and dental records, but we should be able to ID 'em all in a bit.”

He tilts his head the way wolves do when they're curious. “You guys started monitoring Wilde?”

“Just started, yeah,” Adrienne says, crossing her arms.

Lenny walks over and presents me with the report. “I really don't see that guy as being a Sanguinis, Jack. I mean he's only ever done some low-level offenses, if you can even call 'em that. Plus everyone knows his face.”

“Don't underestimate the foxes, Lenny,” I say over steepled fingers, still staring at the monitor.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Skye snorts and swishes her bushy tail.

“Trust me, Wilde might not look it, but he's as crafty as they come.” I remember damn well how he'd performed on the analytical evaluation. Plus there was the fact that he'd set up Shepsfield in that clever little scheme. And his rapid improvement in firearms accuracy was notable too. He's had training, I just know it. “Wilde might not be a full Praetor just yet, but with his mind he's already every bit as sneaky and devious as...”

On the screen, Wilde shuffles out of his pants and smiles to himself as he takes the eggplant over to the makeshift bed.

Wh-

“ _ **HNNNNNRRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!**_ ”

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops in shock. The sound he's making is so deep and guttural... it should be impossible, considering how much room has just been taken up in his body. It's a wonder he can even breathe.

“What was th-” Lenny leans over and turns his head to peek at my monitor. “Jack, what the _FUCK_?!”

“Well...” Skye says with a wince. “It _is_ high in fiber.”

Wilde is splayed over in his drawer-slash-bed with his hips in the air, letting out a heated moan.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” I squeak. Normally I try to catch myself from letting my voice get like that. You gotta stay calm and not get too pitched if you wanna get taken seriously as a bunny, but I think in this split-second of horrified panic I may have just ruined my professional image before three of my top agents.

My paw scrambles for the mouse, and I shake it frantically over my pad, but the cursor doesn't budge a hair. That's when I notice Skye holding up the plug end of the cable, a wicked grin spreading across her muzzle.

“Give that back!” I snap, grabbing for it, but Skye just laughs and dances away, the mouse clattering against the floor.

“Huh...” Lenny tilts his head in the other direction now. “I guess foxes really _are_ into butt stuff.”

“ _NNNGHHH YESSSSSS..._ ” Nick hisses over the audio feed. “ _JAAAAACK SAAAAVAAAAGE MEEEEEE..._ ”

My face feels like it's on fire.

This can't be real. This canNOT be my life. It's some horrible nightmare I'm living in, chasing around a cackling fox while right there on my monitor another is playing Cave Explorer with an aubergine while screaming my name. Adrienne's stalking out of my office, grumbling about me wasting her time and telling me to call someone else if I need to get my rocks off. Lenny's gaping at the computer, strangely impressed for someone who I _know_ for a _fact_ watches porn on his laptop while he's waiting for his PCR gels to run.

And then my cellphone rings.

Instinctively I pull it out of my pocket and answer even as I swipe at the mouse, though again Skye darts away giggling at the last second. At first I think it's Huskins again, about to report unusual activity on site. Yet putting it up to my ear I hear a crisp, frosty voice that crackles like ice.

“ _Agent Savage._ ”

“D-Director Seraphine!” I squeak. Her tone sends a terrified jolt down my spine.

“ _Would you care to explain what the_ _ **HELL**_ _you just put on the ZIA servers?!_ ”

“I swear to GOD Director it's a matter of State security!” I yelp, “Adrienne! ADRIENNE! YOU GET YOUR FLUFFY BUTT BACK IN HERE AND FIX THIS RIGHT NOW!”

And through it all, Nicholas Wilde is panting heavily through the speakers.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

The Rainforest District has a pretty extensive underground drainage system. It's not as massive as you think, since the lush plant life and thick soil layers drink up most of the water. But given the nature of the environment thorough runoff management is necessary.

Slipping up and out of the sewer grating, I give a peek around the area. The ZIA car should be on the other side of the house, with a direct if distant view of the front door. Quiet as I can I slip through the window of the bathroom just as my watch gives a beep. It's five in the morning exactly.

I sit on the toilet and wait, tapping my foot quietly against a linoleum floor pale and patched with hard water stains. It's only a minute more before the door opens and a naked Chester waddles in with a pleased smile on his face, a greasy eggplant in the crook of one arm.

“Whew,” he says quietly as I strip off my clothes, “That was a fun ride.”

“Hope you put on a good show for him,” I smirk. If he's smart Agent Stripes will think twice about installing cameras in my room now. Granted it's not _him_ I'm pissed off about. Unfortunately for Jack Savage though, _he's_ the only one I can fuck with to vent over the situation I'm trapped in.

It hadn't taken long to realize that he switched cups on me the other day to try to get my DNA sample. Which means he probably suspects I'm related to the Frisks, and _that_ means he's probably keeping an eye on me. Good thing the Sanguinis had been keeping a lookout on my place when Savage's agents snuck into my room with their spy crap in tow.

And extra-lucky for me that I've got a body double for when I gotta slip out to the Twilight Cathedral at night.

Chester puts on my Pawaiian shirt and slips on my pants, though he's having a bit of trouble moving his legs at the moment.

“I usually ask guys for their credit card info to see something that good,” he sighs, “Just remember if you wanna really pass it off you gotta hunch over a bit and make your knees a bit stiff when you move.”

“Got it,” I nod. “Money's in the front pocket. Thanks again for this, Chester.”

“Hey any time,” he grins. “So when's my next performance?”

“I'll contact you.”

“Cool,” he leans over and kisses the eggplant on the stem. “Mind if I keep this fella? I think I'm gonna make it my boyfriend.”

“Whatever. Just remember, sewer grate's three feet to your left, head towards junction A88 and take a right.”

“Perfect,” he winks. “Just glad I finally get the chance to play a legit Nick Wilde.”

A 'legit Nick Wilde.' I snort. Oh, if only there were such a thing.

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA FILE CIR-332.76** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **NAME:** (First name unknown) Smythe (Codename: “The Revenant”)

 **SPECIES:** Fox (Black)

 **BIRTH DATE:** [UNKNOWN] (estimated to be in his early-to-mid-40s)

 **HEIGHT:** 4'1”-4'3” (approx)

 **WEIGHT:** 70-75 lbs (approx)

 **NOTABLE FEATURES:** Face crisscrossed by pale scars

 **HISTORY:** No records of Smythe (AKA “Mr. Smythe”) exist. It is believed that Smythe's identity, as is the case with many members of the Vulpes Sanguinis, was lost in the Great Infiltration of the Public Records Office in City Hall in 1992 before the transition to digital media.

It should be noted however that a black fox fitting Smythe's description was wheeled into Sahara Medical on June XX in 1995. Patient had been badly mauled, and had experienced significant blood loss. Physicians' analysis of injuries consistent with sustained torture. Patient was kept in ICU, but orders for a transfer issued by unknown mammals led to the patient being lost in the system. ZIA investigators found no other hospitals receiving a patient with a matching description.

Two days later, the bodies of a female red fox and two newborn fox kits were discovered in [REDACTED]. Female showed similar signs of torture as aforementioned patient, though autopsy showed the kits had been drowned. Kits were notable as having black-and-red patterned fur, and DNA of all three subjects remains on file. However, no DNA sample from Mr. Smythe is available as a basis for comparison, thus speculation regarding the relationship between Smythe and these murder victims remains just that: speculation.

In May of 1998, Smythe was reported by [REDACTED] at [REDACTED]. Incident report shows Smythe was responsible for three of the deaths.

In March of 1999, body of [REDACTED] was discovered in [REDACTED]. Autopsy indicated COD was poisons known to be linked to Smythe.

In December of 1999, body of [REDACTED] was discovered in [REDACTED] along with those of two security guards. Autopsy indicated COD was poisons known to be linked to Smythe.

Similar assassinations linked to Smythe occurred in August of 2000, February of 2002, June 2003, April and May of 2005, and December of 2007. It is entirely possible that Smythe may have committed additional assassinations, but due to lack of cooperation by foreign governments to share intelligence, the true body count is ultimately unknown. ( _See Appendix 2289.2 for full list of incident reports with verified and suspected links to Smythe_ )

In August of 2017, Smythe was observed to be in the company of Sebastian Dusk and Jacob Frisk by [REDACTED]. Subject is now in ZIA protective custody.

 **TALENTS:** Smythe serves as the Vulpes Sanguinis' primary scout and assassin. He is an expert at stealth and infiltration. Due to his fur coloration, Smythe primarily operates at night when he can more effectively blend into the shadows. He has a talent for avoiding and disabling cameras, as well as escaping observation by most mammals. How he avoids detection by scent is unknown, but it is suspected that some sort of masking agent is involved.

Smythe is known for favoring knife combat, as gunfire would give away his position. The daggers he uses are coated in a compound poison, the primary component of which is a chemical derivative of tetrodotoxin (primarily found in pufferfish). The toxin causes fast-acting paralysis, and spreads rapidly throughout the bloodstream with deep penetrating wounds. Cause of death is slow and painful asphyxiation while the subject is fully conscious.

No antidote is available. ZIA researchers are currently looking into pre-treatment countermeasures.

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:** None available. No mammals are known to have interacted with Mr. Smythe and lived. Those who have observed him in the company of other Praetors (Sebastian Dusk and Jacob Frisk in particular) have reported that Smythe does not speak. Whether this is due to a quiet, withdrawn personality trait or physiological muteness is unknown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Finally, something lighthearted!
> 
> This is yet another one of those chapters that was planned out from the very beginning when Chester first popped up in the preceding story arc. "Hmmm what WOULD Nick do with a lookalike, I wonder?" And I decided to go with the most ridiculous and hilarious option instead. Yes I realize that this might be a bit hard to think that the ZIA would buy this, but in my defense surprise buttsex is really, really, really funny. I only wish I'd been able to bust this chapter out sooner since the last three or four chapters have been so grim.
> 
> Besides, given the Vulpes Sanguinis'... activities... Jack would definitely go into this with some hefty preconceptions regarding Nick's pervosity. He's also a little too confident in himself and his team to consider the possibility that they're probably being played.
> 
> Hopefully it's believable enough. If not, at least it's a decent long-awaited laugh. Most of my beta readers seemed suitably impressed and surprised by the Chester reveal, which of course led me to tell them: "I hustled you. I hustled you GOOD."
> 
> Also, hooray! Another peek at the ZIA secret archive. Enjoy Smythe's profile.


	15. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick continues to troll Jack, and receives some life advice. Milo and Oliver put on a show.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

It's been a couple days since I've had to sneak out to the Twilight Cathedral on my own for the first time. I'd gotten the message from Sebastian through my shiny new earpieces that morning, gotten Chester in on the game in the afternoon, and soon after I clocked out I switched places with my lookalike and followed Sebastian's directions to the limo.

That night they had Dr. Allister perform a full barrage of medical tests on me: running on a treadmill, jumping rope, lifting weights, ducking dodgeballs, climbing... aside from the shooting range, it was basically a high school gym regimen from hell.

Yet through it all my mind was working... a lot of these physical endurance, strength, and agility tests were identical to the ones they had us do at the ZPD's police academy, as well as the ZIA's candidate screening. The fact that they had to put me through the paces again might've meant that they hadn't infiltrated either organization, which means the inside of the ZPD might be a safe zone for me. After all, why waste everyone's time seeing how long I could jog on a ten degree incline at five miles per hour?

Though it was just as likely that they just wanted to get fresh data for themselves under more controlled conditions. That was the simplest alternative. But on the other paw, if Rufinius wanted to kick it up _another_ level to a game of Nth-dimensional chess... he might also be using the fitness tests to make me _think_ they hadn't infiltrated the ZPD or ZIA.

I file the meta-reasoning into the back of my mind. I'll have to sort it out later.

The last test was what I'd been dreading the whole time.

Allister had given me a small plastic cup along with some old back issues of Jiggy Chompers, and sent me off to my room to get down to business. I mean... really? I hadn't opened a porno mag since I was a teenager. I would've asked to borrow a laptop, but the situation was humiliating enough already.

Pearl had been waiting in my room, curled up on my bed when I entered. The moment he saw me his ears perked up and he'd approached, trying to give me a pawjob without prompting. I'd felt bad about it, but I had to order him to sit in the corner like he'd done the last time. He obeyed without question.

I'm happy to report though that the sleep-negating pills had worked on the first try. I'd popped one that morning and one that night, and by the time I got back to my apartment all I'd needed was a one-hour nap before dressing and heading to work, though it was hard to fall asleep knowing that Agent Stripes was watching me sprawled in my underwear.

Hope that fluffy bastard got an eyeful of Chester.

The scent mask however is taking a little while to kick in. I'd been taking the pills twice a day, and while I followed the instructions my natural fox scent has been diminishing pretty gradually. Still was quite a surprise though. It's not something you really think about, your own natural scent, because you're around yourself 24/7 and that kinda fades into the background. But as the days went by I noticed a certain... neutrality around me. Like my own presence was shrinking from the world. It was most noticeable right after my morning shower, before I applied the artificial fox musk that was given to me, but it was happening.

This better not be permanent. I like the way I smell.

There hadn't been any leads into the murders so far, so me and Judy and Benjy are just sitting in the break room with our lunches reading over what we knew of the deceased. All of them have been identified by now, but data on 'em was scant. While the ZIA was able to subpoena their browser history and phone records, most of them didn't even have criminal records. We'll have to go out and interview the friends and families of these victims this afternoon, build up some profiles, and try to figure things out from their recent activity.

“I heard from Ramure that the crackdowns on Blue dealers is working,” Judy says. Her tail gives a cheerful twitch. “Apparently the ZIA's expecting Blue usage to drop by a whole ten percent by the end of the week!”

“Makes me wish I was out on the street doing that,” Benjy grunts. “Desk work's fine, but I'm just not built for doing this day-in-day-out.”

“Doesn't it kinda bother you guys though?” I add, trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone, “I mean, no one knows how the ZIA gets their intel.”

Judy sits back down at that, and her smile diminishes a little. She's a smart bunny, so the issue's been floating around in the back of her head, but only when I point it out does she sober up a little.

“Well... yeah. But from what I hear the ZIA Director promised to follow ZPD protocols. And that means sticking to our civil codes.”

Ah, Judy. Always so eager to believe in the system.

“I wouldn't trust her too much,” I snort. Her word hadn't kept the ZIA from bugging my apartment, after all.

“I'd be a bit happier if Vash was still District Attorney,” Benjy says over his usual chai. “Really don't know what to make of Oryss just yet.”

It's at that moment that Agent Stripes steps into the break room. He heads straight to the coffee machine, but out of the corner of my eye I do notice that he pauses for a split-second when he sees me. If I hadn't been on the lookout for his reaction I wouldn't have seen it.

Though me and Benjy have quieted our somewhat mutinous talk, Judy's the first to sit up and wave at him.

“Oh, hi, Agent Savage!”

The moment he glances in our direction I take a slow, measured bite of my eggplant parmesan.

Jack definitely recognizes what it is, because his pupils shrink back and he plasters a smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Now I know for _sure_ he was spying on me the other night, because I can see the questions racing through his head as he tries to process the sight of my meal.

“Agent Hopps,” he says, trying to sound friendly. “Wilde. Kaplan. Just getting some coffee. I'll be out of your fur in a bit.”

I reach down between my legs and give myself a little touch, and Jack stiffens as he notices the gesture.

Now, being a secret agent and all the guy must've had some survival training: learned how to hold his breath for five minutes, endure waterboarding, how to fight off interrogation techniques and the like. But somehow this is a real trigger point for him. His mind must be frantic now. _Is Wilde scratching his balls? Or is he pleasuring himself at the sight of me? What? What?!_

As hilarious as this is I keep a neutral face, staring at him for a moment before I look away with _juuuust_ a hint of doing it a little too quickly. Now I'm pretending to pretend I don't have a little crush on him. Go ahead, take a moment to process that sentence there. Really take your time in savoring it, because I know I am.

Yeah, I may not be a con artist anymore, but I can still really appreciate a nicely multilayered hustle. And after all the stress and anxiety and fear of the last few days I really need a moment to enjoy messing with his head. After all, I _did_ make a career out of screwing with people just to make myself feel better about my crappy life.

“That smells really good, Nick,” Judy says as she leans over the table.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, it's just leftovers,” I shrug. Leftover takeout, that is.

Benjy, our resident chef, nods. “Not as crispy as it should be, but leftover parm has a better flavor. Really gives the seasonings some time to meld.”

And thank you _so_ much for that, Benjy.

“Yeah I like it well-seasoned. Looooots of seasoning,” I agree coyly, just as Judy leans over and uses her fork to cut off a piece of eggplant. It's one of those little things you do when you're dating: share food without having to ask.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jack's jaw dropping. His left eye is even twitching in horror as Judy pops a piece of it into her mouth.

“Mmm! This is great!”

That's when he turns to leave. His movements are a little stiff and robotic like he's in a daze, or the process of simply putting one foot in front of the other doesn't have enough mental space to operate on.

I decide to push it a wee bit further. Frankly, this is just a little too much fun.

Hopping out of my chair I make my way towards him, hunching over and adding a bit of a bowlegged limp as Chester had suggested. When Judy and Benjy had noticed the morning after I'd just told them that I'd hurt my back sleeping in that drawer of mine.

In a low, sweet voice I call out to my mark.

“Agent Savage?”

He neck's stiff as he turns his head around, gazing at me over his shoulder. He even takes a step away from me. His posture's subtly defensive, and it takes all I have not to laugh. The great Jack Savage, Secret Agent Bunny, ZIA Operative. Completely freaked out at the thought of being hit on by a male fox.

“Agent Savage,” I say as politely as I can manage, adding just a bit of a stutter to my voice. “I- I just wanted to apologize. For... y'know. My behavior when we first met. I've been having some really complicated personal issues to work out, and I just wanted to say that... that I really admire the work you've done- that you're doing. And I hope that we can put it all behind us.”

“Put it all... behind-” Jack blinks and his face makes a little spasm before he can stand up straight and give me a rigid smile. “Of course, Officer Wilde. I'm glad to hear we're on the same page.”

“Completely,” I say, reaching out with my paw. When he shakes it I get the feeling he's trying to minimize physical contact with me as much as possible, before he turns around and hustles away.

“Wow, Nick,” Judy says. She's appeared next to me all of a sudden, gripping my arm. “That was... that was _really_ mature of you!”

Yes. So very, very mature.

“Well, you know, I _am_ full of surprises,” I tell her with my trademark smirk. “Though I feel bad for the guy. Something's obviously on his mind.”

“Huh. Why do you say that?” Judy says.

“He's forgotten to get his coffee.”

 

~~~~~

 

My mood starts to go back south as I head to the locker room. We'll be going out for those interviews for a couple hours, so I'll need to refresh my layer of artificial musk for the road. The fact that I'm taking all these pills and sprays, with God knows what side effects, brings me back down to earth. They're a twice-daily reminder that I'm still involuntarily bound to the Vulpes Sanguinis, with its crazy-ass Prince, its assassins and spies. I've got two-way audio earbuds for Sebastian to give me instructions and for them to spy on everything I say and hear. Worst of all I've got a target painted on Judy's back. One wrong move, and she'd die. Probably not quickly, either.

I try to cling to the happy mood I was feeling when it came to screwing with Jack's head though. Not because I'm trying to ignore the shitfest I'm in, but more because I need something to hang onto to stay calm and think clearly. It's always worked for me before, a sort of utilitarian emotional selfishness. It helps me get shit done.

The moment I open my locker to get at my artificial spray-on musk though, there's a note waiting for me.

I stare at it a moment. The note must've been pushed through the slits in the locker door. It's on nondescript white printer paper, folded neatly into thirds. Glancing around to see if anyone's watching I take it out and unfold it. Sure enough the locker room is empty, and no one's in the showers at the moment. Shift change is hours off so no one would be here, which I was counting on when I decided to come in now.

While at first I expect an old-fashioned creeper's note made from letters cut out from magazines, I'm rather disappointed to see a message in twelve-point Times New Roman font.

 

_Greetings JB,_

 

_We live in dangerous times, and wisdom is key to survival. My advice to you:_

_Though your broadest talents can be applied high and low, the footing of the low road is more sure._

_Trust with your life the ones who know your name twice over._

_And finally remember: it's always darkest before the dawn._

 

_~A Friend_

 

I reread it. And then again. I turn the page over, trying to look for any clues whatsoever. I sniff every inch of it. I don't have a wolf's sense of smell, but it's still fairly good, and I'm not picking up a hint of anything familiar. The page smells like it was fresh from the printer, that's all. So whoever wrote this had used a pair of gloves. Or they've been taking the same scent mask pills I've been taking.

The first line jumps out at me then. JB... _“Jellybean?”_

Well, Dad. Aren't you full of surprises.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

I swirl the wine, and the thin residue clings momentarily before crawling back down the glass in rivulets. Bringing the glass to my nose I breathe in the bouquet that's been released: black cherry and rose, and hints of tar. My favored Opal Oak bunny, Amber, kneels at my side. Obediently he holds up the tray of chocolates and cherries.

Waves of black fur heave and writhe on the bed as Milo and Oliver engage in coitus. They are much less hesitant now, after growing more familiar with each others' bodies. Paws grip taut muscles, unsheathed talons claw through night-black fur just on the edge of drawing blood. They are curled into one another, and moan around mouthfuls of each other's flesh.

So lovely.

They had been star athletes once, their bodies shaped and honed for the field. Yet their true potential needed to be drawn out. Just as I tend the roses in my garden, much as the young Canidide had done to bring a microcosm of order to the absurdity of the world around him, I nurture these two youths to full bloom. There is more to life than throwing a ball around. There are sins that lie in wait for discovery, deeds that can bring forth such delight.

All I need do is raise my paw and, like a conductor, command them to play to a new rhythm.

Obediently, Milo hunkers down on hands and knees, and Oliver takes him from behind.

“M'Prince,” Dr. Allister says as she enters.

“Rhona my dear,” I sigh, “Can't you see I am having dessert?”

“Apologies, but yeh requested th' test results?”

“I have not forgotten,” I say. Milo lets out a faint hiss. Soon though it melts into a long, stuttering moan like the voice of a good little whore. You wouldn't think that this was only the third time the lad's taken a cock. “Very well, Rhona. What is it you have to report?”

“Nicholas Wilde-”

“Frisk,” I correct her. “He is a Frisk, and shall be treated as such.”

“Apologies, m'Prince,” she continues in her husky brogue. “Nicholas Frisk's initial sperm count has returned normal... eighteen million per mil. Morphology and motility are also normal, though o' course I would need more samples to confirm. Screenings fer genetic markers also indicate he does not possess the XLT-NB1 gene variant associated with Frisk infertility.”

“Marvelous,” I sigh in contentment, waving my paw in a heavy rhythm. The mewling grunts and the slaps of oiled flesh and fur rise in tandem with my gestures.

“However,” she continues, “Th' genes associated with the Frisk's physical acumen have been diluted. His strength, stamina, and agility simply won't reach the heights of other Praetors.”

“That is only to be expected, my dear.” True this would weaken our bloodline for a generation, but selective breeding would weed out those traits over time. Despite my age I am still quite active, and with proper care I would easily have another twenty years in me. More than enough to bring forth a new line.

Oliver and Milo's grunts and moans begin to meld, and they continue in a tangle of flicking black tails and flashing white fangs. They copulate nervously. Desperately.

“And his fitness evaluation?”

“Poor fer a ZPD officer, much less a Praetor,” Rhona sighs. “To be frank, I suspect th' tod is a bit lazy. He only goes to the gym twice a week for an hour each session. His diet is low in protein, and in his spare time he watches a great deal o' television.”

“Well. We'll just have to change that, won''t we?”

I mull it over. Nicholas has been sleeping with his partner three times a week on average, often staying the night. A healthy sex life is simply to be expected for my grandson, but that can be met easily once he adjusts to using Pearl. The real issue at paw is changing his nightly patterns of activity without rousing too much suspicion.

“Have Sebastian schedule his visits so that he comes to the Twilight Cathedral for training three nights a week. For now we will work around his time with Officer Hopps.” Nicholas will simply have to be weaned off of her over time.

I turn my paw over as I continue to watch the two cats at play. Obediently they pull away from one another momentarily, and Milo rolls over onto his back. Embracing each other once more Oliver locks his muzzle into Milo's, and they devour each other with a fresh hunger as the rhythm rises to a new, fevered pitch.

Setting my glass down on the tray, I pat Amber on the head. He looks up to me with a bucktoothed smile thick with adoration.

“Set it down, Amber,” I command, and he does so. The bunny slides between my legs and undoes my belt, and I lean back into the chair as I receive his talented paws and mouth.

“You have your orders, Rhona. You are dismissed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I'll try to include more lighthearted moments like we see with Nick into my writing. He's naturally snarky after all and some of the truly definitive "Nick Wilde" moments are from him screwing with others.
> 
> The hints in the letter will definitely be coming into play in the future.
> 
> Finally, Milo and Oliver have definitely experimented before, it's just something they don't really care to talk about. You hear loads of stories about butch jocks who end up doing the nasty with their buddies largely because it's more convenient. It's more common than you might think. Though of course it's pretty creepy that Rufinius is making them put on a show specifically for him. I felt it necessary to use this moment to paint the position Milo and Oliver are in as well as to further highlight how Rufinius' perverse, Machiavellian tendencies.
> 
> That being said though, this is probably the last we'll be seeing of this side of Rufinius. It just gets to be too much if I do more than this.
> 
> We'll get a Milo section fairly soon. I like writing him a lot, since I apparently have a total weakness for cinnamon rolls.


	16. Parental Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy has to calm down her parents, Jack fumes over recent events.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“ _Judy, you can't expect us to stay calm about this!_ ” Dad huffs over Muzzletime. “ _Thirteen mammals, Judy! Murdered!_ ”

“ _You didn't see them, did you?_ ” Mom looks more worried than I've ever seen her.

“Well, I was one of the first on the scene, and... yeah it... it took some getting used to but...” I stop myself when Mom's eyes widen and Dad swoons. “Well it _is_ part of the job! I mean if the ZPD isn't going to deal with things like this who is?”

I can't say that this stuff is normal though, that cops see this kind of stuff every day. Even though the occasional murder does happen in Zootopia, a mass killing like the warehouse fire was almost unheard of. Even the Lone Digger didn't shock the city so severely.

Dad seems to have trouble breathing. “ _That... that sort of thing would_ _ **never**_ _happen in Bunnyburrow!_ ”

“ _Judy, please... we know you're a serious police officer and everything, but we want you to come home,_ ” Mom says gently, “ _Honestly you don't know what it's like, sitting here out on the farm with a daughter on the force when these things happen._ ”

“ _I mean it was bad enough knowing you'd be chasing down criminals and maybe even predators much bigger than you, but... what_ _ **is**_ _this even?_ ” Dad turns to Mom then, “ _Bonnie what_ _ **is**_ _this? Gangsters? I thought Zootopia was supposed to be safe!_ ”

“ _Dear, calm down..._ ”

“ _I will_ _ **not**_ _calm down!_ ” Dad clutches his chest all of a sudden. “ _Oh, my heart... my heart's been racing since this morning!_ ”

“ _Stu, please..._ ” Mom rolls her eyes. Dad tends to get melodramatic when things don't go his way, and this sort of thing has always been his go-to tactic for guilting us for whatever purpose.

“Mom! Dad! I'll be fine!” I raise my voice slightly to get their attention, then put on my best smile, “I have two partners while I'm on the task force now. Nick and Benjy. Makes things a whole lot easier when we need to look out for each other.”

“ _Benjy? The tiger you mentioned?_ ” Dad settles down a hair at that. But only just a hair.

“Yeah! He's one of the toughest officers in the ZPD!” My job is to watch his back every bit as he watches mine of course, but if Mom and Dad are going to think I'm _so_ helpless I might as well let them think the big buff tiger will be shielding me from everything.

All of a sudden my intercom buzzes.

“ _Judy? Judy, what was that?_ ” Mom asks.

I open my window and glance outside. There in a sleeveless hoodie and a pair of jogging shorts is a big burly tiger. He looks up at me and gives a friendly wave. It takes a moment before it really clicks as to which one of them it is. It's his posture that gives him away... he's more fluid in the way he stands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he's more used to being in motion.

“Oh! Hi, Danny!”

“Hey, Judy!” he calls out, “Mind if I come up?”

I glance back at my phone, “It's just Danny. He's Benjy's twin brother.”

“ _Twin bro- wait, why is a tiger at your apartment?_!” Dad gasps. “ _Judy! You aren't-_ ”

“Wh- no, Dad! He's gay!”

“EXTREMELY gay!” Danny yells from the street. “I'm plenty bicurious though!”

It's completely mortifying, and I'm flushed from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. Ever since Dad learned I was dating Nick he started to get some _very_ strange ideas about what I was doing in Zootopia. Like it was a fetish or something. Frankly I don't know nearly enough about the science to be sure if it was an orientation or not, all I know is that I don't want to be defined by my romantic preferences. _Especially_ not by my parents.

I catch one last glimpse of Dad's horrified face when I belt out a rapid “ _Okaygottagobye_!” and end the call.

Poking my head out the window I call out, “Danny! What're you doing here?”

“Sorry, I didn't know your phone number! Can I come up and talk?”

I take a quick look around my tiny apartment. While the ceiling would be high enough to fit a tiger in here, it'd be like trying to have a conversation in a broom closet for him.

Thirty seconds later I'm out the door and we're walking to the coffee shop on the corner. It should still be open for another hour or two. Danny's got his hood up, but beneath his sleeveless hoodie he isn't wearing a shirt. I feel a little self-conscious walking beside him, especially when I notice several female cats' eyes lingering on his naked torso as we walk past. Benjy usually wears long sleeved shirts with a looser fit, like he's trying to avoid attention. Danny though seems to be quite the opposite.

I have to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with him, something I'm still not quite used to even after Benjy joined me and Nick. Even then I start to lag behind every half-block or so, and I have to scurry to catch up again. Danny doesn't seem to notice though.

“Sorry for meeting with you like this, Judy. I hope it doesn't come off as creepy.”

“Not at all!” I say cheerfully. “I just feel kinda bad I can't have you over in the apartment, especially after all the times you guys had us over for dinner.”

“It's fine,” he shrugs. He doesn't have the easy grin or mischievous energy he usually does.

“Danny, are you all right?” I ask as we push through the door to Snarlbucks, “Is this about the... the argument you and Benjy had?”

“He told you about that did he?” Danny says as he looks to the drink menu. “I think I'll have the white chocolate and raspberry mocha frappe. You? My treat since I kinda popped in unannounced and all.”

“Oh! I'll have the same thing, actually. Bunny-sized of course!” I remember all too well the time Benjy accidentally got me that tiger-sized carrot-ginger smoothie.

We sit down at a table in the corner as the barista blends up our drinks. The shop's mostly empty right now, and the only other mammal in here is a white fox in a business suit. He glances up at us with a warm smile, before looking back down at his phone.

“So what'd Benjy tell you?” Danny asks.

“Well he said that he wrecked your apartment...” I begin, thinking back to that uncomfortable conversation. “And that you seemed really worried for him. He was drunk, right?”

Danny snorts then, and a sneer twists his normally handsome features. For a moment his expression's hardened so much that he looks more like Benjy than his own happy-go-lucky self. “It's way more than that. Benjy's got a problem, Judy. He doesn't drink often, but when he does it's like he has no self-control. He'll down a whole bottle of hard liquor like it's nothing, like he's trying to drown out the world. He's not violent when he does it or anything, but he'll just hole himself up in his room and pass out.”

I put a paw to my mouth. That really doesn't sound like the Benjy I know. Benjy's always solid, dependable, in control...

But then I remember the night of the Lone Digger when we slept over at the Kaplans' place. The whole time he'd played the sober designated driver. Yet the moment we arrived at their apartment he'd taken out some brandy and guzzled it straight from the bottle before he shuffled off to his room.

“Look, I'm not saying he's an alcoholic,” Danny sighs, “but... he's got issues.”

Issues. It's weird how euphemisms are so much scarier than the words they're trying to hide.

“Um... Danny? Have you maybe talked to him about this? Maybe he could go to a therapist and...”

“Eugh, no,” Danny waves his paw, “Benjy hates the _idea_ of therapy. He thinks people only go to psychologists when they're crazy. You know him. Guy's always gotta play up the butch angle, so he doesn't like anything that makes him look weak.”

The barista must've noticed we're deep in some personal conversation, so instead of calling out our order she's just set our drinks down in front of us instead. I can only stare into the pink frappe and its swirl of whipped cream on top. It feels kinda wrong to know something so intimate about Benjy. I mean, we're friends definitely, but... knowing that there's this dark side to him... it feels like I'm stepping on dangerous ground.

“So... so why are you telling me this, Danny?”

“It's this whole task force thing,” he says, nudging his drink aside. “After the other night... I'm just so fucking _terrified_ for him. He kept saying he knows how to protect himself, but like, how am I supposed to believe that when I see this shit on the news? And even _if_ he knows how to fight his way out of a bad situation, I know that if he sees some more of that horrible shit when he's on this task force he might just overdo it. He might just die with a fucking bottle in his paw instead of a bullet in his brain.”

I take my drink in paw and give it a little sip, before settling back own in my seat. “Sorry, Danny... this is just a lot to absorb.”

He snorts again, “Yeah well... try living with it. Sometimes I have to pop in while he's passed out to check his breathing and heart rate and stuff.”

“When's the last time he's done this?”

“I dunno, must've been a couple months,” Danny shrugs. “The other night was the first time he started wrecking anything though, and it was scary as shit. I don't think me and Luke put together could've stopped him physically. And honestly, part of me thinks that if we hadn't calmed him down he might've seriously hurt himself that night.”

“Well...” I give an uncertain shrug, “I'm not sure what you want me to do about it.”

“Just... y'know. Talk to him,” Danny leans in, and his voice takes on a pleading tone. “Please, Judy... you guys are partners right now. And he really respects you, y'know? Maybe if you tell him to quit the task force-”

“Whoa,” I say, putting up paw, “I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, everything you're telling me... all that really does sound kinda scary. But honestly, it really isn't my place to tell him what he can or can't do. It's something he has to decide for himself.”

“Judy...” Danny begins to say, but he trails off and stares into his drink.

Was this how Mom and Dad felt, I wonder? Mom's always asking if I've been eating right or sleeping enough, while Dad's more worried that his Jude the Dude is gonna get hurt. I hadn't really thought about the awful time I was putting them through. Danny sitting here in front of me though is just a grim reminder that there's this _gap_ between those who are on the force and those who aren't.

I reach over the table to put my paw on his. “You're just worried. It's natural. And I can't promise things'll be okay. But Benjy _knows_ that you want to protect him... it's just that I think he wants to protect the city even more. I don't think there's anything I could say to stop him from feeling that way. And even if there was I'm not sure if I should.”

After all, I know just too well what happens when you say the wrong thing.

“Yeah...” Danny says as he rubs the back of his head, “Yeah I get it. Sorry, it was wrong of me to ask...”

“Well, it's definitely given me a lot to think about. I always knew my parents were worried, but... it's kinda important for me to know how scary it is for mammals looking in from the outside.” I take a big slurp of my drink. “I guess it just didn't occur to me that it'd be so serious.”

I begin to see a hint of Danny's usual smile play on his muzzle. “I hope I didn't scare your parents too much. Y'know, you being friends with a queer and all.”

“Actually... bunnies don't mind that nearly as much as mammals think,” I shrug, “Even out in the country. I mean, two hundred or more kids, chances are some of 'em are gonna be gay. I grew up with plenty of aunts and uncles in same-sex marriages. They helped mom raise us. It's not like Mom and Dad can do everything themselves after all.”

Danny blinks. “Huh. I never thought about that.”

I giggle, “Well it'll probably be more encouraged as time goes on. I mean, the population boom in Bunnyburrow can't last forever.”

Of course, while my parents might be perfectly fine with Danny being gay, I can't tell him that they'd be entirely comfortable with him being a tiger.

When we finally finish our drinks Danny walks me home. I'm not used to seeing him like this: quiet and thoughtful, or even on his own really. Him and Luke are normally so attached to each other as this pair of nip-smoking goofballs that it's kind of hard to imagine what each one is like on their own. In a way it was like how I got to know Benjy better... at work he's all about duty and discipline and whey protein, but away from all that he's an entirely different tiger.

“Hey Judy?” he says as we reach a stoplight. He glances down at me. “Mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Well...” I'm a little nervous as to what he means by that. “I... I guess?”

“What's it like being a female?”

My nose twitches, and I look at him in confusion. “Um...”

“Like... I mean... I'm not talking about heat or anything. Do bunnies even...?” he shakes his head, “No I mean, what's it like? On the inside?”

“I... really don't know how to answer that,” I begin, “I guess... well, in my family everyone was raised pretty much the same. Two hundred and seventy-six bunnies, y'know... it's hard enough dealing with us by litter so gender roles weren't something we were told to follow _too_ much. But even though no one made me act more 'girly' growing up I can't help but feel like there's some pressure for me to focus on my appearance or start a family already.”

Danny looks at me thoughtfully.

“And... well, I guess everyone expects me to be more maternal too, and I kinda am. But I think it's more because I grew up helping to take care of my younger siblings on occasion and it just kinda grew on me. Plus before I met Nick _sooo_ many bucks on the dating scene just wanted to start talking immediately about having kits, and that was _frustrating_...”

It's hard, trying to think of an answer on the spot like this. Somehow though I'm going on in this pace that most other mammals think is this rapid-fire flow of chatter.

“But the big thing though is... everyone thinks there's a _pattern_ ahead of me in my life. This really big complex pattern with a bunch of checkpoints and I better _not_ miss a single one. And I don't see that happening with guys _nearly_ as much. I dunno, maybe it's like the mid-life crisis guys get, but for me as a female it's like there's a bunch of smaller crises one after the other. Though...” I sigh, “I'm sorry, Danny. I really don't know what kind of answer you're looking for, and I honestly don't think I can answer it for _all_ females. I'm a bunny after all, and my experiences as a female are kinda locked in with my species.”

He tilts his head though, and he's staring past me like he's digesting everything I sad.

“Actually,” Danny nods, “That's really helpful. I guess for a tigress things have gotta be really different from a rabbit doe.”

And then it hits me.

“Oh! Danny, you aren't... are you?”

He blinks. “Oh! No, no I'm not. I've got friends loads of who are though. First time they came out was really confusing, but I learned to get over myself and be more supportive,” he shrugs his bare shoulders. Though he isn't as built as Benjy, he's much less shy about showing what he has, and it's impressive nonetheless. “Like, when Tyler came out as Helen... it was a process for our whole group. It's still not perfect, but it's definitely gotten way better these days. But no, that's not me.”

He breaks into a broad, mischievous grin just as we arrive at the front door to my apartment building. “Though I'll still borrow her makeup on occasion.”

I stifle a giggle. It's great to see Danny a little more like his old, carefree self.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Lenny Packard** _

 

Jack's pacing back and forth now, muttering to himself. I really wish he'd do this in his own office, but he's in one of those moods where he needs to bounce ideas off of someone. The guy's always been a bit of a loner, which for a bunny is pretty weird. Most other rabbits see him as kinda dysfunctional. It's probably why he's never had a relationship with one, and I know this for a fact. I would've smelled another bunny on him easily.

Thing is though, despite his gruff exterior he really does need company. I'm no Isaac Conall, able to tell someone's moods or thoughts by smell... I mean seriously that guy is my hero... fucking _amazing_ ability there. Bumped into him yesterday in fact, grilled him about it a little, though it seemed he didn't like the fact that us Agents know about his talent. It was disappointing to hear that he suspects it's something you're born with, like having perfect pitch.

Hmm? Oh yeah, Jack. Right. Anyways, I might not be able to pick up emotions or attitudes by smell, but I can tell that the guy has trouble connecting with others. He's not one of those withdrawn autistic savants... not smart enough, for one. It's just that for him, the mission is everything, and sometimes he gets a little too focused on getting results. On the occasions where that happens, one of us needs to help keep him in check and make sure he takes care of himself.

I pick up the microcentrifuge tube and pop it open, giving the dissolved sample of Blue a sniff. Hmm... faintly metallic... coppery and with a bit of mustiness that could only come from trichloroanisole. Yep, this is Blue Type-B. I mark it down on the tube and in my lab notebook, then insert the tube in the rack for disposal later.

To the left of me, Nick Wilde lets out a moan on the monitor as he continues to masturbate. I shake my head. Mammals might give me shit for being a total poonhound, but I've got nothin' on this guy.

After the whole debacle with Seraphine on the phone Jack had been fucking mortified. He'd gone down to ZIA headquarters personally to explain himself, and _no one_ likes having to do that. By the time he returned the feed was shunted to a locked server requiring special clearance to access, and Jack's ears were so red I almost grabbed an ice pack to help him cool down.

“Hey Jack, you've been keeping up with the crime reports, right?” I ask, sniffing the contents of another microtube. Nice and mellow, few notable impurities. I mark down in my notebook that we've got another Type-A Blue sample. This is the highest quality stuff, presumably made by Doug himself. “I mean, you seem a little... obsessed with Wilde.”

As if to emphasize my point, Wilde lets out a sharp moan over the speakers.

“I'm NOT attracted to him!” Jack says firmly. His ears have gone stiff.

“I never said-”

“That smug, arrogant... you know, I don't think he's even in a real relationship with Hopps! That bastard's too narcissistic to love anyone but himself!”

“Well, he been loving himself for the past two hours, that's for sure.” I glance at the screen, and sure enough Wilde's sprawled in his drawer, panting happily and licking his paws clean.

It's weird. Like, I'm not gay or anything, but after three days of monitor duty I really feel the need to crank one out to some male-on-male stuff. Maybe some wolf dom, fox sub junk. That's always super popular, or so I hear. Honestly, I don't mind having to keep an eye on Wilde when he's home. It's nice to have something on in the background while you're doing tedious labwork, even if its just him violating every vaguely cylindrical vegetable in the plant kingdom.

Jack gives a disgusted grunt. “Well, he's a Frisk all right. They're all perverts like that.”

“Or maybe he just...”

“What?” Jack says, his spine stiffening. “Maybe he just _what_?”

“Well...” I start to trail off, “I heard some of the other agents whispering that you and him... in the break room...”

“You heard wrong!” he throws his paws up in the air. “When did we start dealing with gossip? We're supposed to be an intelligence agency, not a goddamn high school locker room!”

Now I _really_ wish I had Conall's nose. It'd be damn useful to be able to sort out what Jack's feeling right now. Homophobia is getting pretty out of fashion, but Jack never came off as being that way. And it's not like he's got some grudge against Nick Wilde... he only just met the guy two weeks ago. Granted a lot's happened in that span of time, but not _that_ much.

Or perhaps...

Did he have something personal against the Vulpes Sanguinis?

I mean okay, I've only worked alongside Jack these past four years. The ZIA had scouted me out after they noticed my postdoctoral work, which was really cool and a great way to pay off my grad school debts immediately. But unless they need an extra wolf to scout some terrain by smell I don't get much field work, so I don't get the chance to bond with him while dodging bullets. Whatever dark past he's hiding is something only Skye and Elkredge would know.

He's looking up at me now, and I feel my fur prickling.

“Lenny, what've the other agents been saying about me?”

“Um...” I trail off, popping open another vial and sniffing. I pick up a hint of osmium tetroxide. Eugh. Type C then, one of the few samples here of that type.

“Lenny, please.”

I sigh, closing the vial and placing it in the rack. “Look it's just dumb rumors from the ZPD, okay? Someone in the breakroom saw you getting all antsy when Wilde walked up and apologized, trying to make nice. But the way they said it there was that kinda... tension, y'know? Like a one-sided attraction.”

“God that's _exactly_ what I don't want!” Jack facepaws at that. “I mean... what is even _with_ him? Is he insane? One day he's being this completely snide, arrogant _prick_ and the next he's trying to make nice.”

“You haven't hung out with many preds, have you?”

Jack looks up at me in confusion. “Wh- I know plenty of predators! Half the agents I brought here are predators!”

“No I mean...” I sigh, “How do I put this... I mean, maybe it's more for inner city predators, but being a bit of a jerk to you at first kinda means you wanna be buddies.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Like, okay: we have all these societal norms right?” I continue, “Most basic one is 'don't be a dick.' Prey mammals, sheep especially, they take it to this extreme. They all go around being super nice to each other and get a real bug up their ass if someone ribs 'em. But for a lot of preds living like that is a bit of... well, it's kinda stressful.”

Jack gives me a weird look. “Really?”

“Well yeah. I mean, it feels like you're running around wearing fifty pounds of armor made of 'thank yous' and 'pleases.' All that formality is just a baseline societal norm for grazers, something you need when you don't know what to expect from another mammal. But wolf packs are smaller, so we get more tight-knit. When we're friends we give each other shit all the time, and we're free to do that because we know it's not serious. Like when you ribbed me for my dating life at the first task force meeting.”

Jack just stares at me, and suddenly he's looking slightly embarrassed.

“Wait... you really _meant_ that? Were you trying to just warn all the females on the force to stay away or something?”

Jack just looks away, suddenly very interested in a the pattern of the linoleum. “I... was pretty sure you hadn't finished your recent round of antibiotics.”

“Oh for the love of... look,” I say, setting that little chestnut aside for a moment, “it really sounds like he might've just been testing the waters with you. Seeing if you'd tease him back.”

“Do I have to remind you that that fox is under _investigation_?”

“Which, y'know. Is kind of a good thing if he's making googly eyes at you for now. He'll be letting his guard down. I dunno how foxes do it, but the way I read it is that he thinks you like him too and he kinda wants to change the parameters of your relationship. Or Hopps corrected him and now he's trying an alternate approach.”

“That. Is. Insane. The two of them are dating!”

I shrug, “Never stopped me. Besides, you're the one who said you think their relationship is a farce.”

Jack lets out this weird little bunny growl which I suppose is meant to be fierce. Frankly it just comes off really c- adorable.

Okay so either a grudge against the VS, or Jack's in denial. It's not like it's entirely unprecedented either... the guy regularly gets to pound at least one fox that I know of, and I'm pretty sure he's caught males in the honeypot on missions before.

“Well,” I clear my throat to catch his attention. “Putting that aside for a moment, I just finished all the samples, and I can say it looks like we were right. Ever since Jesse Lyserod was murdered and his Blue operation was put out of commission, the Type-C variant of Blue has been vanishing from the streets. Out of the fifty-two samples here I've only got three strips of Type-C. So we really _are_ looking for Woolter and Doug now.”

Luckily, that seems to catch Jack's attention.

“Well, that's good to know. Problem is the dealers we caught aren't talking,” Jack grumbles. “Most of them seem to think one of the other sheep did the warehouse fire. They're scared that if they squeal on either of 'em they'll get murdered for it.”

“I'm sure you and Elkredge can cut 'em a deal. Especially if you do the bad-moose, good-bunny play and offer to place them under witness protection.”

“Doesn't work like that I'm afraid,” Jack shakes his head. “No, they'll have to be desperate enough to take the offer. Leaving behind the life you have and entering a new one where you're now liable to get killed isn't something normal mammals want. We'll have to discuss an action plan on getting fresh leads later. For now though I think it's time we deal with Wilde. Lemme borrow your computer, Lenny. I'm gonna need to check the criminal profiles of those we arrested.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I have a lot of trouble writing Judy's POV, so I felt the need to flex those muscles here a bit. While at first I thought that it was because I was crap at writing a woman's POV, it may also be because her personality is essentially the polar opposite of mine. Honestly I would SUPER appreciate it if any woman could please give me some comments, critiques, or pointers on how I'm writing Judy and how I can improve. That would really mean a lot to me.
> 
> Jack having little tantrums is just too cute of a metal image, so I really had to work it in here too. I know a lot of people dislike Jack immensely, especially when he interferes with WildeHopps, but he is just so much fun.


	17. The Last Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After training Nick shares a candy bar, while Milo makes a phone call.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“Dr. Allister mentioned your physical metrics have improved quite a bit,” Dad says.

“Well... not having to sleep anymore kinda frees up a lot of time to go to the gym.”

“Well, you're nice and lean, so that's good,” Dad says as he feels my arm with his paw. I feel really self-conscious about that. Going through puberty under mom's care had been hard enough. I mean we had health class and everything so it wasn't that hard to understand what was happening. The weird part was hiding the changes my body was going through from Mom. She'd always doted on me, seeing me as her “Little Nicky,” and I knew that it was gradually breaking her heart seeing that I was growing up. Especially after we thought Dad died.

For a little while I'd gone through a phase of wearing baggier clothing to hide my changing physique. I was losing my baby fat and gaining muscle... I mean, not _that_ much, I've always been pretty wiry... but after losing Dad at such a young age I didn't want Mom to look at me any differently. Not for a while at least.

Then of course the real bitch phase of adolescence kicked in: the arguments, the screaming, the tears. I'd gotten in and out of trouble, been dragged back home by the cops to Mom's utter humiliation. Some nights I wouldn't even come back home at all.

How would Dad have handled it, I wonder? Mom was nurturing, but she had a tough time putting her foot down. Dad though was patient even while he was assertive. He tried to talk _to_ me instead of talking _at_ me. And though I recognize the composed, even-tempered tod who would engage with a ten-year-old me even as he lectured, the situation is so alien and wrong that I can't help but pull my arm away from his grip.

If he's hurt by the gesture though, he doesn't show it. Straightening up he simply nods.

“Well. Now that you've been working on your core athletic abilities, it's time to put you through the paces of combat. Just know that this won't be like your usual ZPD training. We won't be testing your accuracy on a shooting range or on training targets. You need to learn how to deal with mammals on a case-by-case basis. Each species has different strengths and vulnerabilities, both physical and psychological. A good Praetor knows how to exploit them.”

A buffalo and a lion are carrying a large foam target between them, a life-sized model of a rhino. The training room here has several long tracks that extend twenty feet, and the pair of henchmammals attach the model to the pylon at the other end of the track.

“Now a rhino is one of the more challenging mammals to take down. For one, they tend to be very heavily armored, so normal bullets won't be effective at all if you aim for the torso. I know that you're trained to hit the center of mass, but you'll need to unlearn that to be more effective in combat. Going for the legs might stop a charge, if only because the shock of the impact will trip them up. But a bullet from an MMS-12 like you have won't cause lasting damage unless it's a fragmentation round. Speaking of...”

“I'm not using fragmentation rounds!” I recoil the moment there's a hint of a suggestion of using 'em. Those things are designed to split into eight needle-like shards, spreading out to rip up a foe from the inside. It's sickening and illegal as all hell. “What _happened_ to you, Dad?! You never would've even _thought_ about this sort of thing when I was a kid!”

He sighs. “It's best not to talk about that, Nick. Remember that there are no secrets in the Twilight Cathedral,” he taps the side of his head for emphasis, indicating the two-way radio earbuds. “But I understand how you feel. I don't have a taste for cruelty either... best to put a mammal down quickly.”

“I don't want to put _any_ mammal down! This is insane!”

I mean, I work with McHorn after all. Does Rufinius expect me to try killing him someday if we cross paths? Or Rhinowitz? Krumpanski?

“Nick, this training... consider it more like an initiation. I've spoken with your grandfather, and he's assured me that he won't force you to go against you fellow ZPD officers. In fact, I think you'll find that your involvement in illicit activities will be much less than you expect.”

I make a disgusted noise and cover my face with a paw. “What, and you believe him?”

“Your grandfather is many things, Nick,” Dad says as he unholsters his gun, “But he isn't a liar. To him lying is one of the gravest offenses that someone of his station can do. It reflects a lack of honor as well as intellect.”

“Too bad,” I snort, “It's probably one of my best skills. Really requires you to think on your feet.”

“Maybe,” Dad nods, “but regardless, your grandfather has always said that a truly smart fox can deceive without having to lie. When he says something straight out, and this is rare, you can believe him. So try not to worry: Rufiinius does not plan on having you fight your fellow officers. So, let's train.”

He turns to face the foam rubber model then, gesturing with a paw. “Now, a rhino's most vulnerable spot is the eyes. Because they're slower and much less agile, the eyes are actually a more feasible target than if you were trying to hit, say, a weasel's. Now there's a problem of course, and that's...”

I stare at him for a moment. Does he actually expect me to answer?

“The horn,” I say grudgingly.

“Very good. It not only blocks our aim, it's also a distraction. If you face a rhino straight-on with a gun and try to aim for the eyes, eighty percent of the time you'll strike the horn instead. It's painful, and it'll stop the charge momentarily, but it also won't put him down for good.”

It's so strange, the way his lecturing tone seems so familiar, even though the subject is so brutally alien. It's the same patient tone he'd use when he taught me how to do a Double-Windsor knot. Or when he'd lectured me on why it was so important for a fox to dress well. He'd vanished from my life not long after we had that talk. I must've played that conversation in my head a thousand times since then, tried to remember his voice and his face and his scent.

His voice has gotten a little creaky over the past twenty years. His face, once so soft and plump and full of life, had grown gaunt and lean and hard. Those eyes of his seem so tired. And his scent... the scent mask has taken away that last little piece of him completely. Was there nothing left of the dad I used to know and love?

He notices me staring. “Are you all right, Nick?”

“I... I'm fine,” I mutter.

He seems to know what's going on in my head though, and he gives a sympathetic nod. “Well, let's continue. Your chances of taking down a rhino head-on are much more slim. So instead what you'll want to do is dodge to the side until you're at an oblique angle, about ten degrees off from a straight line from his charging vector. Then take aim and shoot. Let me show you. Pull!”

The buffalo had circled the room. He slams the big red button on the wall behind us, and the rhino model immediately starts barreling towards us at a runner's pace. Just as dad had described he jumps off to the side about three feet, and just before he lands he fires twice in one smooth motion.

When the target jolts to a stop right in front of my face I stumble and nearly fall backwards onto my tail. Looking up though I see the two spots where the dye pellets had struck. One had left a big red smear over the right eye socket, while the other is a bit closer to the bridge of the model's nose.

“Now this is a very difficult maneuver, so it'll take you a while to get down. The trick is to keep practicing.”

I look at him uncomfortably.

“It's only a model, Nick. Just plastic and foam.”

Just as I'm psyching myself up though I hear the soft pad of footsteps behind me. When I turn around I'm standing muzzle-to-muzzle with Rufinius.

“Good evening, Nicholas. Prodigal,” he greets us, “I see you've begun combat training.”

“Just started, my Prince,” Dad says, “I have every confidence in him.”

“Of course,” says Rufinius, “But I am here to give him another kind of exercise. If you would, Nicholas, allow me to test your mental faculties. Have you observed anything interesting at the ZPD recently?”

“Well we're still hunting for Woolter and Doug,” I say with some hesitation. I don't want to divulge anything from the ZPD, but the thought of that black fox standing over Judy loosens my tongue easily enough. “Plus ever since Jesse was killed one of the three Blue formulations has been vanishing from the streets. But you already knew that.”

“Yes. But it is good to know what the ZIA knows. What else?”

“Well, out of the thirty Blue dealers we've caught, one was released just today. Goes by the name Mort Gangley, a llama who operated in the Canyonlands.”

“Interesting,” Rufinius says, but his flat tone shows he's finding it anything but. He doesn't want inside information. The guy is testing me, “How did you discover this precisely?”

“Just talk around the other task force teams,” I shrug, “I'm a friendly guy, I like to chat. I read his file too. Caught with twelve packs of blue, so we definitely know he's been dealing. His dad runs a car dealership, so he might've had enough money to bail his kid out.”

His face is perfectly still, but I can almost hear the gears turning in Rufinius' head. “And you doubt this?”

“He's gotten no lawyer visits aside from a public defender, and they don't usually help you post bail like that. So he was released from orders up top, likely by Savage. Gangley might've cut a deal, fessed up as to how to find one of the sheep.”

“Very good Nicholas. But you must also consider that Savage likely wanted you to _think_ Gangley cut a deal,” Rufinius says sharply.

“Well... I did suspect that but...”

“We know for a fact that the dealers know nothing as to the whereabouts of Doug and Woolter, Nicholas,” Rufinius takes on a lecturing tone now, “We've interrogated enough of them ourselves. No, even before these crackdowns Woolter and Doug would only meet with the dealers on their terms. A basic precaution to protect the manufacturers. And with these crackdowns on the dealers, Woolter and Doug have gone deeper into hiding.”

“Well, if they haven't fled Zootopia entirely.” I mean, knowing what I know at least, I probably would.

“Unlikely, especially now,” Rufinius shakes his head, “To move their operations they will need a large number of Night Howler bulbs, and those have become enormously difficult on the open market due to new regulations. No, they'll be growing their own, and a mother bulb will require another four months under the right greenhouse conditions to do so.”

“Besides,” Dad adds, “A new city means a new environment they won't be used to. Police forces, governments, local mob bosses... it's a huge risk.”

“I did not give you leave to speak, Prodigal.”

Dad gives a start, then bows his head meekly, “Apologies, my Prince.”

Rufinius sighs, then looks back at me, “Your father is, however, correct. Woolter and Doug will be doing everything they can to remain in the City for the next few months at least.”

Of course, one of them could always quit and flee the city, but I knew damn well how addictive illicit businesses could be. There's a certain thrill in screwing the system, and while I've never carved out a little drug empire in Zootopia's underground I can well imagine how tough it'd be to step away from your kingdom once it's built. Those two sheep would be defending their networks to their dying breaths.

“But back to the subject of Mort Gangley,” Rufinius continues, “We know he was released under Savage's orders. So I ask you this: why do you think that is?”

“He wanted me to think that Gangley snitched,” I say, realizing it now, “The ZIA probably has a whole team of agents and officers keeping an eye on that llama. Savage is hoping someone goes after him.”

“Correct,” Rufinius says, and his coppery eyes brighten, like a teacher proud of his pupil for arriving at the right answer. “What else?”

“Well... the only ones who know Gangley was even _booked_ are those on the task force,” I say, my mind working. “Which means the only ones that know about his _release_ are those on the task force. And Jack Savage made it look like a snitch was released even though he knows I'm related to a Frisk. That means if any Sanguinis operative goes after Gangley, they'll pin me as the source of the leak.”

I'm trembling at the thought. Crap. Oh crap, I can almost feel the buzzards circling over me.

“You _are_ a Frisk, Nicholas,” Rufinius says, his mouth curving into a rare, thin smile. It's like watching a granite statue break into grin. Disturbing. “But you are correct about everything else. If it is proven that you are working for us I don't believe Jack Savage would try to arrest you just yet however. Our shell of secrecy has existed for centuries, and under my tenure I have made sure it is nigh impregnable. Savage knows this. No, with you so close at paw he would consider you a rare and useful resource. Once you are exposed not merely as a Frisk, but a Sanguinis operative, Savage would likely use you to feed me even more misinformation, to throw me off.”

“Well... we aren't going to fall for that then.”

“On the contrary, there are many useful reasons in having you exposed,” Rufinius says, and my jaw drops in shock, “Though he would know you are a Sanguinis, he wouldn't know that we know. And that can be exploited more actively than if he merely thought you were _potentially_ unreliable. Plan two steps ahead, and take a third. That is my motto.”

I break into a cold sweat. _But I'm_ _ **not**_ _one of you!_ I want to say. I haven't done any jobs, exchanged any goods... I haven't even slept in the room they'd assigned me! All I've done is take their stupid drugs and started up an exercise regimen. Frankly I'm starting to feel more like a prize hen being raised by a farmer than a Praetor-in-training, being weighed and measured by the meat on my bones.

Ever since I was dragged down to the Twilight Cathedral I've been trying to think of a way to get out of here while making sure Judy is kept safe from the Prince's assassins. But the more I think about it, the more I'm starting to realize I might just lose her after all. If the Prince meshes me completely into the Vulpes Sanguinis I'm gonna be outed eventually, and that means I'll lose the life I'd worked so hard to build these past few months.

And that includes Judy.

“You have no need to fear,” Rufinius says, and I give a spasm at his voice. Shaking off the thoughts I look down at the paw he places on my shoulder. “Twenty years ago when your father joined us, I vowed in exchange that you and your mother would be under my protection from outside forces. That vow still stands. You have my word that I will not expose you to Jack Savage, my boy. Rest easy.”

He steps back. “Now. I will let you two return to your training. Good day.”

I shiver. Why does it feel as if he'd just done me a favor? And that he might just expect one in return?

 

~~~~~

 

I trot back to my room utterly exhausted. Even though I only need an hour of sleep a night now I still need some extra recovery time after a long workout. It's no surprise that hitting a moving target, especially something as small as a rhino's eyes, was much much harder than practicing on the gun range. Frankly, I'm starting to think the ZPD may need to upgrade its training tactics. But then again it's not like we're Razorbacks trained for urban assault situations.

I'm gonna have to crash here for a bit before I head back to my apartment. I shouldn't be keeping Chester any longer than usual. If anything he's probably enjoying his time alone, likely committing adultery with some member of the squash family.

I flop onto my bed, mulling over my situation. The second clue in the letter had been the most obvious, and hadn't taken me long to figure out: _Trust with your life the ones who know your name twice over._ Name twice over. Nick-Nick. Nick is my name. Nick-name. Yet another one of his punny Dad Jokes. It's actually kinda heartening to now this part of him still exists.

So... anyone who knows I used to go by “Jellybean” back when I was a kit, I should trust them with my life? I can't see Mom getting caught up in this craziness, but that still implies one mammal other than my dad knows the name “Jellybean.”

Shit, I can't think about this right now. I just need to-

I feel a paw sliding up underneath my shirt.

My eyes pop open and now I'm staring into a pair of violet ones. For a beautiful, terrifying split-second I think it's Judy, until I recognize the vapid smile and white fur. Pearl is already beginning to unbutton my pants.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I push his paw away. “Okay how do I make this any more clear? I'm not interested! I have a girlfriend!”

He tilts his head as if he can't understand.

I sigh. “Can you even talk?”

He blinks, and in a soft, sweet little voice he speaks to me for the first time.

“With your permission.”

“Thank you!” I huff, “Okay look, lemme make this very clear: I'm not interested. I don't want you to service me or touch me or anything like that. So just... I dunno. You can take the bed when I'm gone, just gimme an hour to myself for now, okay? I really need to just get some rest.”

“Oh,” he says, his ears drooping. I've seen that look on Judy's face before. Thing is, I know Judy's tough enough to stand up for herself. Pearl though is just so waifish and passive. If something's up I doubt he'd do anything to bring it to my attention on his own.

“Okay, what's wrong?” I sigh.

“It... gets lonely in here, Sir,” he murmurs.

And that's when it clicks. I mean it's not like the door's locked from the outside or anything, but this rabbit's probably been trained to the point that he won't budge from the room unless he's been given permission. And for the past two weeks I've just been ignoring him or batting away his advances. Presumably someone's been feeding him, and he's been washing up in my bathroom every day. But aside from that he's essentially been in solitary confinement this whole time.

And now I feel like shit. Bunnies are incredibly social mammals by nature. The past two weeks of not being around anyone, not having any physical contact... it must've been hell.

“Oh... oh jeez,” I sigh, and cup his cheek with one paw. “Oh jeez I'm sorry, little guy. I didn't think... you know, you can leave this room whenever you want, okay? You have my permission, so long as it doesn't get you in trouble with anyone else.”

His tail gives a happy twitch at that, and he smiles. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Here, let me make it up to you,” I reach into my pocket. “It might be a little squashed, but I think you might like it. It's kinda too sweet for me anyway.”

Pearl blinks as he holds the snack bar in his paws. For a little while he just stares at it.

“Can you read?”

“Yes... but... I'm just a dumb bunny...” he murmurs.

“Okay, please don't say that again. At least, not around me.”

“Carroty Yum-Yums...” Pearl says in a slow, quiet voice. It's like he's trying to sound out a foreign phrase. “Maple Sugar Flavor.”

“Yeah, my girlfriend brought a whole case back to the precinct. She grew up with 'em but you can't really buy 'em in Zootopia outside of specialty stores, and even then it's pretty expensive. Of course, turns out Clawhauser was on a diet so the case has just kinda been sitting there...”

I trail off when I notice he's just staring at the bar.

“Something the matter?”

“Oh!” he sits up straight, startled. “I- I'm sorry, Sir. But...”

I put a finger to his muzzle to stop him from talking. Yeah, yeah, the Prince hates carrots. That really awkward moment during dinner is still sharp in my mind. Legumes whatever, he called 'em. I'd just stuffed the bar into my pocket without thinking today. Usually I pick up a Berry Granola Crunch from the vending machine to snack on on the way home, but the case had just been sitting in the corner of the break room for anyone to grab one.

“It's fine, just eat it now,” I tell him. All I'll need to do is take the wrapper with me, so no one would know.

Pearl unwraps the bar and takes a hesitant bite out of it. The moment he does however his eyes pop open and this look of pure, drunken bliss spreads on his face. You'd think he'd never had a candy bar before. His leg's even shivering, like he wants to thump it against the bed.

When he finishes it he wraps me in a big warm hug, nuzzling against my shoulder and making a happy cooing sound as I fold up the wrapper and tuck it into my pocket.

“All right,” I sigh. Surely Judy would understand if this little guy needs to cuddle. Bunnies are just so touchy by nature it seems cruel to say no. “Just promise me you won't touch my junk when I'm sleeping, okay?”

With a yawn I lay my head down against the pillow, with the warm scent of bunny in my nose.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

I scratch Oliver between the ears as he buries his face in my crotch. In my other paw I hold the small glass bottle of poppers and I take a deep huff. The fumes smell like ammonia, and they sting the inside of my nose as I breathe. A hot tingle rushes through my head as the fumes hit me, the sensation flowing down my spine in a hot, prickling wave. It feels a little like being on Blue again with the first hit, but the effects are the opposite. Blue you get this surge of energy: this primal strength that makes you feel like you can take on the world. The poppers though make you feel like you're dipping into a warm bath.

The sensation seeps into my bones, and I relax as Oliver wraps his mouth around me.

 _This isn't normal. None of this is fucking normal_ , a little voice is screaming at me from the back of my mind.

Look I'm not a queer or anything, though it's not like this is the first time I've been with a guy. I mean, back when it was Cal and Oliver and me... well, those two, they'd always been close. And for the longest time they'd refuse to invite me to chill at Cal's place with 'em. I understood of course. They'd known each other since they were kits, and they'd had a certain bond with each other that I could only envy from afar.

I'm not completely dumb though. I suspected that they occasionally traded a blow... or, well... it's more like I kinda jokingly toyed with the idea in my head in that “man wouldn't it be weird if...” kinda way. So it didn't really come outta the blue when they invited me to join 'em, but it still ended up being kind of a shocker.

It wasn't because they were into guys or anything. It's just... having it with a bro is easier, y'know? Especially when you want something warmer than your own right paw. Girls you always gotta coax a little unless you win a big game, and even then you gotta make sure they're on the pill and/or pull out to be extra safe.

Getting it on with another dude... it just _happens_.

It'd only been a couple weeks before the last game- a couple weeks before the Lone Digger. I was nervous at first, still reeling from the realization of what was about to happen. I mean it shouldn't have been all _that_ weird... we've slapped each other's asses in the shower and stuff, and things can get kinda touchy in the locker room, but a lot of it was that squirmy “LOL you like this docha? You must be GAY” sorta thing. But Oliver showed me how it was done on Cal, and then he had me get on my knees for him in turn.

I mean, I'd always admired the two. Cal especially. He could have any girl he wanted, especially with that grin of his and those tight V-neck tank tops showing off his build. Guy was warm and friendly with those he favored, and he gave you just enough shit on occasion to make you remember that you had to _earn_ his respect. High school popularity was a balancing act between being friendly enough to connect with others, but dickish enough to have an edge, and Cal had known how to walk that thin line with a poise like no one else. He had a swagger that was almost mythic.

So in a weird way, when Cal asked me to get down on all fours for him that evening... scary as it was, a part of me had felt giddy about it. It was like he'd finally recognized me as something worthy.

But no... this... this isn't normal.

I should be heading off to college by now. I had my athletic scholarship. My dorm mates and me had gotten to know each other online. I was gonna major in engineering like my dad, join the local Feline Pride club. I'd toured the campus, found a church near the dorms I could go to on Sundays, signed up for classes. My tuition had been paid for. I was supposed to find myself and get a girlfriend. Graduate. Get a job with an eighty thousand buck starting salary. Get married and have kits.

All my friends from high school, all the classmates I had... they were moving on towards their futures.

This is all wrong. I shouldn't be here, in an underground complex working as muscle for a mob of foxes. I shouldn't be huffing drugs while getting head from another dude. My mornings shouldn't start with dim artificial lighting, stale air, and me gazing in the mirror at the pale scars crisscrossing my ruined face.

I might've lived through the Lone Digger, but my future died in that fucking club.

I huff. I'm getting close, and I tap my fingers against Oliver's head to signal him.

He keeps going for a couple long sucks, which I appreciate, and I clench to keep from popping until he can get off and finish me with his paws. Wait... did he even feel it? I give his head another tap with my fingers, even pant out his name. My breath's hot and heavy in the air.

But he keeps going.

I'm tapping his head like crazy now, trying to signal him that he needs to get off. A hot panic is building inside me alongside the need to juice it, but Oliver actually bats my paw away. I'm trembling, and the bottle of poppers slips from my paw and bounces along the sheets.

“W-wait...” I whimper. “S-stop... ah... AH!”

My back arches. My toes spread. My claws rip through the thin mattress cover as I writhe, and a hot tingle burns through my skin as I pulse again and again into his throat. The mattress springs squeak beneath me as I bounce against it, convulsing as Oliver's tongue presses against me with each swallow.

The dim lighting seems to burn white-hot in my vision, and for a moment the world slips away.

When I come to my body is prickling with the chill. Yet I feel the heat of Oliver's mouth on mine, the warmth of his chest and paws pressing into me. His mouth tastes salty and I can smell my own musk on his breath.

I've never been kissed. Not romantically, not like this. And _especially_ not by another guy. My mind's racing, and in a panic I begin to try pushing him away.

Oliver nudges aside my paw. “Turn over,” he pants, nuzzling against my neck.

“W-wait...” I huff, trying to catch my breath.

“Come on, bro, it's my turn. Turn over onto your stomach.”

“Dude, I...” I push him off finally and sit up, scrambling to grab my pants. My clothes and his are in a messy pile on the ground, and it takes a moment for me to sort them out. “I'm... I'm not like that, man...”

“Bullshit,” he grunts. He's sitting up now, and though I don't have the balls to look him in the eye I can hear he sneer in his voice. “I know how you felt about Cal.”

“Cal was a fucking _legend_ man, it's... it's just...”

“So whacha saying? You'd fag for him but not for me?”

“ _What?_ ” I yelp, glancing up at him with my boxers halfway up my thighs.

He's staring at me now, eyebrows furrowed. Whether he's angry or hurt I can't tell. What's up with him? I mean, I know he changed while we were in prison, but deep down he was supposed to still be the same old Oliver, right?

“Why're you acting like this, Milo?” he growls. “Like we've never done this before?”

“I'm...” I stutter, “I'm just _confused_ , okay?”

“What's there to be confused about?” he reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away. All thoughts of what should've been... the college scholarship, the dorm buddies, the classes that must've started already... all of that's fled from my mind. I'm locked in this terrible, grim present, and now I'm just staring at Oliver, and for the first time I'm seeing this hunger, this _passion_ in his eyes.

“I... I just need to head out to the atrium, get some air-”

In one smooth motion he gets up off the bed and slams me into the wall. My skull cracks against the brick, and the stone is cold against my naked back. He's gripping my throat now, his claws pressing into my neck like needle points.

“Don't fucking play games, Milo. I know you loved Cal. And you know what? So did I. But Cal's dead... he got his fucking face ripped off on the dancefloor,” he growls, his muzzle wrinkling into a snarl. “It used to be just me and him, you know. The two of us, we were fucking _unstoppable_.”

My heart's pounding in my ears, and I feel like I'm about to pass out. “Oliver... Ollie... please... please don't...”

“Don't what? Hurt you?” those claws dig deeper, and if he grips any harder he'd be drawing blood. “I _protected_ you that night, you stupid fuck. I saved your fucking _life_.”

“O-Ollie...”

“I'm gonna tell you something once, and I'm not gonna say it again,” he hisses, his muzzle a gnat's breath from mine. I can feel the drops of spittle flecking against my mouth as he growls. “You're _not_ special. You had rich parents, good grades, all those nice things that made you think you shit glitter. But you chose to hang out with _us_ , man, because me and Cal were from the slums. We were _legit_.

“We didn't need a third wheel. We didn't need some spoiled brat clinging to us like a kid brother. But we let you _in_ because we were nice. If you're trying to push me away now, after all we've done for you... you're not just an ungrateful piece of shit. You'll be proving that you're _nothing_. That you've always been _nothing_.”

He lets go of my neck, and my legs give out from under me. I'm slumped on the floor, trembling. Someone smarter, someone more strong-willed would've had a retort. Cal would've definitely known what to say to put Oliver in his place. But me, I'm just Milo. Stupid, loser Milo who could only ever _pretend_ to be on Cal's level. Who could only ever try to get as close to him as possible and hope that I get some of his shine cast on me.

Oliver crouches next to me, as if daring me to say something. The eyes I'm staring into now are unfamiliar. It was like some alien had scooped out his soul and taken over his body, trying to fit his memories and personality together like mismatched pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Somehow I get the balls to scoot away. I grab my clothes, get dressed in a panic as Oliver stares into my back, and I rush out of our tiny room.

The Twilight Cathedral, the foxes called it. It's a hauntingly beautiful name for a hauntingly beautiful underground palace. Most of the place was built more like a medieval castle, but in certain spaces, places where only the Prince and his 'guests' could visit, the walls were of textured and lacquered wood, sculpted and painted in ornate Rococo. Mom and dad used to take me to art museums since I was twelve, so I knew about this sorta stuff.

Maybe I could've minored in architecture.

I head down the empty hall and into the Great Commons where the foxes were lounging. Me and the rest of the non-vulpine mammals were only allowed into certain places with permission, but I have no choice but to pass through to get where I need to go. I keep my head low and stick to the edges of the room, glancing at the occupants out of the corner of my eye. Several of them look up at me, but no one cares to chastise me for being out of my room after hours.

I almost bump into a bunny as I round the corner, one carrying a tray of fruit: grapes, cherries, peaches and apricots. He's wearing a thin, clinging silk loincloth and an assortment of golden armbands, and he has to dance aside so I don't accidentally knock anything over. Stuttering out a quiet apology I slink away. He just smiles mutely and heads off towards the Commons.

When I finally arrive at the Medical Ward I heave a sigh of relief when I see Dr. Rhona Allister sitting on a high stool, gazing into a microscope.

She glances up at me, her muzzle curving into a warm smile. When she speaks it's with a rolling brogue, though it's tempered by the crisp enunciation of her profession. “Well hello, Milo. I presume yeh want to make another call?”

“Y-yes, please. Dr. Allister. Miss. Ma'am,” I say, tossing out as many stiff formalities as I can manage.

She chuckles. “No need to try to get on me good side, Milo. Yeh have me permission. Yeh know where the computer is.”

“Um... what time is it?” With the lack of sunlight and without the rush of water from the scheduled rains in the Rainforest District, it really is disorienting around here. I can barely tell how many days have passed, much less the time.

“Twelve minutes past eight. In th' evening, that is.”

“Th-thanks, Ms. Allister,” I say, and scurry over to her computer. A little late maybe, but I'll manage.

There's no cellphone reception down here, no landline even. Somehow though the Sanguinis was able to run a cable so we could get internet, and the connection's no doubt bounced through several proxies to hide our location. Might explain why the browser is a bit slow. And unless you're a Praetor or Dr. Allister, you need permission to make outside calls.

Everything's monitored and recorded too. There are no secrets in the Twilight Cathedral.

Opening up the dialing program I punch in the phone number. I try to call every few days, and I'd just done so yesterday afternoon. But with Oliver going crazy on me I need to talk right now.

Not about him of course. I just... I just need to talk.

When the speakers let out a click I breathe a sigh of relief, until a cold voice with the lilt of a Latino accent answers instead.

“ _Milo? Is this you?_ ”

I freeze up. I can't speak. I can't even breathe. I glance down at the mouse in my paw, wondering if I should edge it to the red button that would end the call...

“ _Milo, I know it's you. Just stop being a sneak and speak already._ ”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“H-hi, Papa. Um... where... where's mom?”

For a long moment he's silent. It could be the lag. Or maybe the call's dropped. Or maybe my dad hadn't really expected it to be me after all. When he finally speaks again it's in a slow and measured voice.

“ _Where are you, Milo?_ ”

“I'm safe. I'm...” it'd be a lie right now to say I'm 'fine.' “I'm safe. Where's mom?”

“ _She's upstairs. So you somehow escaped prison, then?_ ”

“Well, not exactly, but...”

“ _ **Foda-se**_ _, Milo. How many of those mammals did you kill in that nightclub?_ ”

“I...” my mouth's gone dry, and again I freeze up. “P-Papa... Papa please, I didn't mean to! Cal... he gave me some Blue and...”

“ _I told you! I told you to stay away from that... that_ _ **monte de merda**_ _! Do you know what you've done? Your mother and I have worked so hard for years to get to where we are! You've ruined us all! No one will talk to us now!_ ”

The tears are crawling down my face. How could it still hurt? How, after the interrogations, after the weeks in prison, after all the crying and bawling and regret could it still hurt _now_? Hearing dad rage at me like this... it's like the wounds are still fresh and raw, as if they'd never even scabbed over.

Suddenly I hear shouting in the background of the call, my mom panicking as she's begging for the phone. But my dad's yelling at her, telling her to back off and let him handle this.

“ _Milo, listen carefully,_ ” he says in a frosty tone. In the background mom is crying, “ _We are moving away from Zootopia, and I will be having our phone numbers changed. Do not try speaking to us again. I now have a gun because mammals have tried to hurt us. If you ever try to come back to our house before we are gone... I_ _ **will**_ _do what I must to restore our family honor._ ”

“Wait! Papa please! Please let me just talk to Mama so...”

The line goes dead.

“...so I can say goodbye.”

For a while I sit there, staring at the monitor. I stare at the window prompting me to enter a number, until the digital keypad begins to blur. I sniff, scrubbing my eyes and whimpering. In the month since we were taken down here to the Twilight Cathedral the only moments where I'd been anything close to happy was when I was able to squeeze in those secret phone calls with my mom. And now even that's been taken away from me.

A box of tissues appears next to me, and I look down to see a sympathetic Dr. Allister holding it up. Grabbing a big wad of them I sob into my paws until the tissues are soaked with snot and tears.

“Would yeh like something to help yeh sleep?” she asks gently. “Or a narcotic t' take away the pain?”

“N-no...” I blubber, tottering as I get to my feet, “T-thank you... Dr. Allister... y-y-you're... you're... really... really nice...”

I lope my way back to my room... my cell really, small and cramped as it is. When I enter Oliver's gotten dressed again, and he's flipping through a Fancy Cat lingerie catalog while playing with himself, making a point to ignore me.

My paws tremble as I undress. My jacket falls to the floor, then my shirt. My jeans pool around my ankles, but I leave my boxers on for the moment. I know Oliver has a thing for peeling them off himself.

Crawling over to my mattress I lie on my stomach, picking up the bottle of poppers from the small table between our beds. Oliver must've set it there when I ran out. Unscrewing the cap I take a deep huff. Then another. And another. I've heard these things are supposed to be safer than alcohol, but for now I'm hoping I can kill as many brain cells as I can.

Lying there, my head buzzing like there's a million ants dancing in my skull, I feel Oliver hooking his fingers into the elastic band of my underwear.

“I'm sorry...” I slur into my pillow. “Please, Ollie... please don't leave me...”

And then I feel the warm weight of his body press against my back, and he kisses me along the nape of my neck. “Of course not. I love you, Milo...”

This isn't normal. None of this is fucking normal. My life wasn't supposed to end up like this.

But it's all I have.

“I love you, Milo...” he murmurs, and I let out a soft grunt as he enters me. “I love you...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Well here we are, the first elements of intrigue are just starting to come up. It's a bit more low-key than I'd like, Jack trying to flush out Nick's identity as a Sanguinis by baiting him with Gangley. Ideally a short scene with Gangley would've been best to highlight him, but that just wouldn't have been economical. Too bad Rufinius isn't falling for it.
> 
> And yay! At least Nick has one friend for sure in the Twilight Cathedral.
> 
> I used to do quite a bit of male erotica writing, and it probably really shows here in Milo's section. I just have such a thing for broken sad pandas. We'll be seeing thing from Milo's POV now and again. I'm really enjoying his character development.
> 
> As usual, please comment and critique. It really does help spur me into putting out updates more quickly!


	18. The Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny ends up cleaning the kitchen, Nick tries on formal wear.

**Danny Kaplan:**

 

_**Distance Traveled:** 2.3 miles_

_**Time Jogging:** 17:25 _

_**Calories Burned:** 644_

 

I stare at my fitness tracker. Seriously? That's it? Okay I mean sure, if you aren't a 370-pound tiger that number might _look_ impressive, but keep in mind that I'm trying to work off a mocha frappe right now and that clocks in at a thousand calories for the large cup sized for big cats. I'm not one of those queens who bitches that all that fat and sugar goes _straight_ to my thighs, but I do have an on-stage figure I need to maintain. It's not just vanity speaking.

Autumn's officially starting this Friday, but I'm already feeling it. While the afternoon had been comfortably temperate the era of warm summer nights is coming to a close. It's not chilly right now. It's not even particularly cool. But with the sweat I've worked up my fur is beginning to prickle in the night air, and I think I've had enough for tonight.

It's a little past 8 right now, so there's just enough time for me to get a shower in and join Luke at the fish-and-chip place. Gotta love that about the City: much like Catscreek, Zootopia's got a robust nocturnal crowd, and that means there are plenty of places for us performers to get a late dinner. Gazelle's concerts tend to go late into the night after all, and that means our schedules are downshifted by about three hours.

As usual I get a few glances from the neighbors as I head to the elevator wearing only my jogging shorts. An elephant in a business suit tromps through the lobby, shooting me a nasty gaze. I never caught the guy's name, but I know for a fact that he's the churchgoing type and doesn't approve of how swishy I am. I shoot him a wink and blow a kiss in his direction. With luck Benjy will catch the tail end of it tomorrow, and that's always hilarious.

When I get home though I'm surprised to see my brother pacing back and forth in his tank top and his long-sleeve shirt. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recall that he's supposed to be having dinner with Nick and Judy tonight to go over the task force stuff, but I didn't think he'd be here for another hour at least.

When he notices me enter though he rounds on me with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a tight grimace.

“Benjy?” I say as I approach him. “Bro? What's wrong?”

“What've you been telling everyone?” he growls.

I blink. “What? I don't...”

“Have you been whispering behind my back? Telling everyone I have a drinking problem?”

My eyes widen. “Wh- no! Where did you... I never said that!”

“Yeah? What about that conversation you had with Judy then?” he snarls, spreading his arms wide. “I order _one_ drink at the bar and she gives me this worried look, and when I press her for details she tells me about all that shit you said. That what, I can down a whole bottle of hard liquor on my own? Like I'm some sort of fucking alcoholic?!”

“Benjy, sweetie... you must've misunderstoo-”

“Don't fucking call me ' _sweetie_!'” he roars, and throws open the cupboard so hard the door slams against the wall. I wince. I can hear the hinges crack, and he's definitely left a dent. “You think _this_ is my problem?!”

He starts pulling out the bottles of booze then. The whiskey, the vodka, the tequila. Some of it isn't even his. There's the rum I use to make Dark-And-Stormies. The peach schnapps I use for Mad Hatters.

“Benjy! Benjy, wait!”

He rips off the cap for the vodka and begins pouring it down the sink.

“ _THIS_ isn't my problem, Danny!” he snaps as the booze sloshes out. He slams the empty bottle down on the counter. With his brute strength the base shatters immediately, and the jagged edges of the bottle crumple into the granite surface. Cursing, he drops it into the sink in disgust and reaches for the next bottle.

“Benjy please stop!” I yelp, grabbing his arm. “Please, you're scaring me!”

“I'm _not_ crazy!” he growls. “And I'm _not_ a fucking alcoholic.”

“Why the _fuck_ are you acting this way then?!” I shout back at him. “If you're gonna snap like this you DO have a fucking problem!”

“ _You're_ my problem, Danny,” he says, jabbing a finger into my chest. “ _You_. Not only do I have to deal with the insane crap I see on patrol five days a week, I gotta drive all the way out to fucking Catscreek on the weekends to take care of Gramma. And every fucking night I'm here I gotta babysit you and Luke. You and your fucking stoner asses, because you juvenile idiots don't know how to take care of yourselves. All I've ever done for my _entire life_ is take care of you, Danny.”

He forces me back with each step... pushing me, prodding me, snarling in my face like he's gone as savage as any Blue user. I've never been so scared of my twin brother. Luke isn't even here to help calm him down. It's just me and Benjy, and for the first time in ages I feel naked and vulnerable wearing only a pair of shorts.

My back hits the wall, and his fingers press hard into my chest.

“I can't even bring a girl home,” he continues in a voice like crackling ice. “Not if I have to worry about your stupid pranks or jokes or all the filthy shit you do that'll drive her off. Not when the whole place might reek of nip when I bring her in.”

I've never seen him like this. Benjy's always been so distant. So stoic. He's always in total control of himself.

It's only now when I'm muzzle-to-muzzle with him that I see the fury blistering in his gaze: all the pent-up stress and frustration and anger he keeps locked away day-in-day-out. And once in a while, when it gets to be too much, he'll sterilize what's festering inside him with alcohol, drowning his rage until he goes numb.

This is who the real Benjy is. This, I realize to my horror, is Benjy when he has to stay sober.

“You know... sometimes I think you do it on purpose. Like you enjoy fucking with my life,” he says with a cold sneer. “Like you act this way just because you wanna ruin me. Why do you do it, Danny? Why can't you be fucking _normal_?”

“Benjy...” I whisper, and I raise a trembling paw to cup his cheek. My vision's getting blurry, and with each blink my cheeks grow more damp with tears. “Benjy...”

Just as my other paw begins to slip under his shirt though he grabs my wrists, paws tightening until my fingers start to go numb. I whimper as his eyes meet mine with an icy stare.

“Don't you ever fucking touch me again.”

I'm frozen in place when he lets me go. Turning around, Benjy leaves, slamming the front door closed behind him.

I'm trembling, and slowly I let myself slide to the floor. I'll have to put those bottles away. Or hell, maybe I should just pour it all out like Benjy had tried to do. There's gonna be the broken glass to clean up, the wall will definitely need to be fixed. That's coming out of the security deposit for sure.

For now though I take a moment and try to calm down.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Boy I'm gonna have a tough time explaining this to Judy.

I mean okay, that sentiment could probably be applied to all the other crap I'm doing after hours, but this one I can almost laugh about. I've put on a hooded jacket to cover my usual Pawaiian shirt and tie combo... don't wanna look too loud for the moment after all. Even though the crowd kinda values discretion, I wouldn't be surprised if the rumor mill starts going if I'm recognized and word trickles back to Judy.

If any Agents are following me I can't see 'em. And if there are any surveillance drones are on my tail they better retreat back to their operators in the next ten minutes, if my timing is right. There's a rain scheduled then, and here in the Rainforest District the downpour gets heavy. Everyone thinks Tundratown is where all the mobster stuff happens, but if you wanna avoid ZIA surveillance drones this is the best place to be. You just gotta know how to time your illicit activities right.

The bouncer at the door is a tall antelope, and he gives me a friendly wink when I give him the twenty-buck entrance fee. Sometimes I really do regret being known as one of the top cops in Zootopia. It makes skullduggery that much harder.

I push through the doors to the club, and once I'm inside the dim blue neon lights cast enough surreal shadows that I should be unrecognizable. There's a riot of scents in here... creamy bunny and earthy wolf, musky ox and gamey antelope. The heavy beat of the electronic music is rolling through me, and everywhere there's the scent of male.

An elephant is in the middle of the dancefloor, wearing a dozen glowsticks in a rainbow pattern around his neck as he grinds right up to a rhino. He's really shaking the floor, and I mean that literally, so thankfully the pair is snagging all the attention as I slip around the perimeter of the club. I nudge past a pair of male badgers holding paws, grinning as they scurry off to find a place to make out.

There, at the entrance that leads up to the roof is Chester.

He's wearing a mesh shirt, a pair of skimpy shorts, and about half a dozen glowing bracelets deck each of his wrists. In the crook of one arm he's holding a plastic bag. Chester doesn't seem the wallflower type, but like the little pro he is he's waiting for me instead of running around shaking his fluffy tail on the dance floor.

Sometimes I really can't believe it's come to this: that I'm putting my alibi in the paws of someone whose life is probably the worst stereotype of “gay fox” imaginable. But then again he's been pretty reliable, and if the ZIA thinks I like to get my starfish punched once in a while that just makes my story of sneaking out here at night all the more consistent.

Chester grins when he sees me, and pushes through the door and into the stairwell. I follow suit.

“Mmmm alone at last,” he coos. Once the door closes behind us the music mutes somewhat into a dull hum. He pulls off his tank top and slips out of his teeny shorts. There's barely enough spandex there to make a track suit for a mouse.

I undress as well, though the moment I give him my set of clothes he drops it on the floor and starts nuzzling up to me.

“Ooooh Mr. Wilde... you don't have to go so soon, do you?”

“Actually I do,” I smirk, planting a paw against his chest to push him away. In the same stroke I take the plastic bag out of his paws. “Sorry, but you know I'm not into guys.”

“That's what they all say when they first come in here,” he grins, “But that's why they call it Club Liquid. Eventually everyone goes with the flow.”

He does a seductive little swirl with his hips, as if to emphasize his point.

“Yeaaaaah afraid my 'flow' is gonna have to stay backlogged for the moment,” I say as I unwrap the package he's been keeping for me. It's a tuxedo, though with the kevlar fibers woven into it the fabric's a bit thicker than I'm used to. Then again, it's not like I'm used to formalwear, period.

I immediately start getting dressed, while Chester puts on my clothes in turn. Once we're done I give him my phone. Man I really hate losing access to my shiny Ewetube vids whenever I want, but it's probably the most important thing for him to hold onto as my body double. If Savage is tracking my cellphone GPS he'd be mapping everywhere I go.

Chester helps answer whatever messages I get to the best of his abilities too. It's mostly through text, but at one point he'd taken a call from Agent Stripes while he was jerking off and couldn't resist. To hear him tell it he was able to get through an “Oh! Agent Stri- Savage! I was just thinking of y-” before Savage abruptly hung up. Must've been making a test call to check if the live feed he was getting from his spy cameras had been compromised.

Taking out my wallet I withdraw five crisp hundreds: Chester's going rate for each night he does this. I add an extra fiver to the mix.

“Pick up some eggs and milk for me if you can,” I say. “And please leave them unmolested.”

Chester gives me a funny look as he straightens my tie around his neck. “How would I have sex with milk?”

“I dunno, but you'd probably find a way.”

“Eh. True.”

Chester skips off to the dance floor in my Pawaiian shirt and tie while I slip out the back. He'll be hanging around for another hour, probably do some penis-things with another guy or three in one of the bathroom stalls, and then head back to my apartment.

Me on the other paw, I start speaking into my earpiece.

“Check, check, this is Nick. I'm ready to be picked up.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Frisk_ ,” says a female vixen on the other end. It's always been weird answering to 'Mr. Wilde,' but now I gotta get used to a whole new name too.

Not two minutes later a limo pulls up to the curb. The door pops open, and I step back with a gasp when a polar bear steps out, towering over me. At first I think there's gotta be some mistake, because in that instant I think Mr. Big's somehow returned to the city. But then the bear steps aside, gesturing politely to the door. There, sitting with a female bunny in his lap, is Sebastian.

I step inside and take my seat.

“Nicholas!” Sebastian greets me cheerfully. He's always happy, this one. “Meet Brutus, one of our longtime enforcers. Not the brightest gem in the bunch, but I'm sure you'll agree nothing quite beats a polar bear in terms of sheer strength.”

The bunny in his lap giggles, rubbing Sebastian's chest with one paw. He's wearing a white tuxedo with a red-banded golden rose inserted into one pocket. I recognize it as one of the unique varieties Rufinius keeps in his garden.

To my surprise, Pearl is here too, along with two rabbit does. Each of them is wearing a harem-bunny outfit in clinging red silk. The does bat their eyelashes and scoot apart, clearing a space for me to sit between them.

“Um... what...” I begin, but Sebastian gestures for me to sit. In that instant I hear a boom overhead, and a heavy rain begins to cascade onto the roof of the car.

As if my day needed to get more ominous.

Muttering a silent prayer for Judy to forgive me, I squish in between the two. Their paws begin exploring my body and their mouths are kissing my shoulders and nibbling my ears. There's a moment's hesitation before I bat them away and urge them to stop. I mean okay I love Judy more than anyone else and she's a bunny, but my feelings towards her have nothing to do with preyophilia. It isn't a fetish.

Still... in that split-second pause before making them stop there'd been a kinky thrill to it, and now I'm starting to wonder if all those speciesist stereotypes of foxes assaulting bunnies actually stemmed from the Vulpes Sanguinis' activities.

I'm just thankful when they obey and just lay against me quietly. Plus it's nice that Sebastian is nothing like my granddad and he isn't getting his nuts licked as we're having a conversation.

“I thought I would introduce you to some of our prime breeds,” he says, putting an arm around the bunny sitting next to him. She's got white fur, but her ears are black, with a dark ridge running down the back of her head. Dark gray spots speckle the exposed sides of her body. “Cookie here is a Floral Spot. The first prime breed that the Prince developed.”

He nods to the doe sitting at my left. Her undercoat is dark, but the longer strands that are spread evenly over her body are glossy and white. Bright red eyes gaze up at me like burning embers. “Wist is a Silver Coal. Quite a fitting name, no? Like coal dusted with moonlight.”

Finally the bunny on my right has tan fur, but a vanilla underbelly. The fur around and on her ears is long and tufted, and when her ears brush the side of my face it feels like I'm being kissed with goose down. “And finally, Caramel here carries her namesake. A Caramel Silk. Best known for the softness of their fur.”

I look to Pearl then. He glances at me, but unlike Wist and Caramel he doesn't fawn over me the way he does in private. Instead he's tense, hunched in on himself as if frightened.

“What does that make Pearl then?” I ask.

“A failure.”

The answer comes so bluntly that I have a hard time processing it at first. I open my mouth, about to say something snarky to come to his defense, but while Pearl has his head lowered like he's staring down at his paws his eyes dart off to glance at me, and he gives the slightest shake of his head.

“What, uh...” I give the tip of my nose a nervous lick. “What do you expect me to do with them?”

“Whatever you like!” Sebastian says with his ever-present smile. “But at least let them display their affection for you in front of the guests. You are, after all, representing the Frisk bloodline as the accepted heir.”

Next to him on the seat is a briefcase. Sebastian places it on his lap and, opening it, withdraws two masks. They're laser-cut sheet metal, gilded and studded with glass gems: Sebastian's is silver with blue gems, while mine is gold with black and red. There's also a tight cloth hood for me to wear beneath it, another layer to obscure my identity.

Cookie helps him affix his mask, while Caramel helps me with mine once I slip on the hood. The dozens of dangling silver ornaments feel funny jingling and bumping against the side of my head.

Rufinius and Dad are out of town, hosting another set of events in Europe and Asia. When I suggested that Dad might host the Carnivale Auction in the City I'd been shot down ruthlessly.

“He is the Prodigal,” Rufinius had said, and that was all.

Carnivale. Hrmph. Not just a festival, it literally means “to put away the flesh.” Turns out even Rufinius has a thing for punny Dad jokes, dark as that thought is. With a five thousand buck entrance fee I'm surprised that the guest list is so long. Not that I know any of the names, of course. Only Rufinius and Sebastian have access to that info. Everyone attending will also be wearing masks and going by pseudonyms. All I know is that twenty will be Zootopia's elites, while another twenty will be coming in from out of town.

The space the Sanguinis rented out for the occasion was once an old speakeasy from back in the Prohibition days. Low-key and hidden away as is proper for an event like this. If you're thinking that this is just the sort of place the ZIA might keep under surveillance you'd be right, if it weren't for the fact that ever since the Vulpes Sanguinis returned to Zootopia they'd been renting out dozens of other places and hosting more legitimate events as a smokescreen, though with a little money laundering tossed into the mix. And with the Rage 'n Rave festival celebrating pred culture coming up in a couple days, there's gotta be hundreds of other balls, parties, and charity events alongside this one. If Savage is looking out for Sanguinis activity tonight, it'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

We arrive at the run-down little building on the edge of the docks. During the day it's a fishermammal's pub, though one with a bit of a seedy backstory. Tonight, as far as the owners know, the basement area's been rented out as a charity auction.

“It should be about another hour before the guests arrive,” Sebastian says as he steps out of the car. Through the windows I can see some of the ex-con henchmammals giving the place another round of last-minute cleaning. Milo and Oliver I recognize immediately. For a pair of teenagers they look downright respectable in the waiter's uniforms, moving crates of wine into the basement. “I suggest you freshen up a bit. Relax. Leave me to make the greetings. Your presence will be required only just before the auction: a quick introduction, just a little bit of schmoozing afterward, and that will be all.”

“Great,” I say through the cloth. While the hood covers the top of my head the rest of it dangles about six inches down my jawline like a black veil. I'm particularly thankful for that, since that means I'll still be able to eat and drink. And right now, I really, really need to drink.

Slipping behind the bar I begin looking over the bottles. I'm looking for something cheap and smooth that'll give me a good buzz, when I feel a little tug at my sleeve.

“Sir? If you need a drink I can make one for you,” says Pearl.

“Nah I just need a swig of...” I look down at him. He can't see my eyes through the reflective plastic eyeholes, but he meets my gaze nonetheless. “Wait, you know how to mix drinks?”

“It's my job to please,” he says with a slight shrug. He learned early on that his usual feigned sweetness doesn't impress me. It took some time for Pearl to get used to being a bit more casual around me, but he's starting to get comfortable with it.

I mull it over. Normally I'd go for something tropical, like a passionfruit margarita or a tequila sunrise with mango juice. Anything you can stick a little paper umbrella in. But no, that's what Nick Wilde would drink. If I'm gonna pass off as someone other than myself, I need to act the part in all respects.

“Can you make a Manhattan?” I ask. I'd had it once, and didn't spit it out.

“Of course, Sir,” Pearl says with a smile. He seems genuinely happy that he can finally do something for me.

Pearl gets to work without hesitating. It only takes him a few moments to locate all the spirits he'll be using: a dash of bitters, a couple ounces of whiskey, and one ounce of vermouth. A quick stir with some ice cubes and Pearl strains it out into a chilled glass, garnishing with a black cocktail cherry.

Lifting my veil just a little so I can get the glass to my muzzle I take a sip. It's spicy and herby, with a sweet hint of the cherry that's in there. I glance down at Pearl. He's folded his paws in front of himself and he's looking up at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “This is amazing.”

He breaks into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Sir. I'm glad you enjoy it.”

“I'm gonna need like, four more of these later tonight. Or maybe we'll change things up a bit midway,” I sip it again, letting the heat and sweetness play over my tongue.

Sighing, I head up the stairs to the balcony on the second level. Taking a seat at one of the tables overlooking the back alley, I gaze out at the street. Pearl, Wist, and Caramel follow, and all three kneel beside me. Part of me... a _very_ small part, thinks I could get used to this. But I know too damn well that all this pampering and Rufinius' light touch in getting me involved is meant to coax me into to letting my guard down. I can't let that happen.

For a while I just sit and think, mulling over my situation. I don't think I've ever felt more alone in my whole life. Even when I was hustling I had Finnick by my side. And when I left my old life behind the loose network of friends and acquaintances I'd collected over the years started to distance themselves from me, especially when they realized I was gonna play it straight as a cop.

Judy had helped smooth things over. She more than filled the social void I'd left behind, and little by little I'd opened up. Now though I can't talk to her, even if I wanted to. Not if it meant she could get her throat slit, or kidnapped and dragged to the Twilight Cathedral. I don't want to even imagine what Rufinius would do to her if that happened.

Could I trust anyone here? Even if I could trust Dad, and I'm still not sure I can, he isn't here right now. Besides, it's not like there's any way to communicate with him. Except maybe pass notes to get around the bugs and electronic monitoring. The question of course is how do I even begin doing that, and how the hell do I make sure those notes aren't intercepted?

No, it's too much of a risk. Somehow I gotta get out of this one on my own. I gotta protect Judy, save my Dad, and find out what Rufinius is up to.

Glancing down at the table for a moment I notice to my surprise that I've been fiddling with three cocktail cherry stems. Somehow I've been so lost in thought that Pearl's been obediently replacing my drinks with fresh ones as I finish each one off, all without me noticing.

I take note of the buzz that's running through me. Yeah, there's about three drinks in me right now.

A limo pulls up in the alley. Gazing out of the window I watch as a female antelope steps out first, circling around to open the door. A large cat steps out, though his face is covered in a hood and a mask of laser-cut metal like mine is. It's only from his coat pattern on his exposed feet and paws that I can tell he's a leopard.

The guests are beginning to arrive.

It really doesn't make sense though. Rufinius is supposed to be a brilliant guy. After all that time and energy he spent hunting down the Blue manufacturers he has the first one he comes across murdered, just like that. And spectacularly, too. Rufinius might enjoy his theatrics, but a smart fox knows when to be practical too. All it's done is alert the ZIA, and driven Woolter and Doug underground even more. Sure Rufinius says they wouldn't leave the city, but still...

Another limo pulls up, and a plump otter in a feather masks slips out. He's wearing a white tux and he waddles a bit as he moves. How much of it is part of the disguise, I wonder? A little padding to fill out his figure some more, add a distinctive way of walking... maybe throw a fake accent into the mix. How many of these mammals know each other? He speaks to the hyena driver for a moment before heading in.

A sudden realization hits me. Could Rufinius have something to do with Jack Savage? All those exotic bunny breeds... and Jack with his unusual coat pattern. Did he intentionally alert the ZIA with his stunt, knowing it'd draw Jack Savage into the investigation? And did he _want_ to drive Woolter and Doug underground?

A large white car this time, and this time a black bear lumbers out wearing a hawk-beaked mask while an wolf attendant retrieves a briefcase from the trunk. He's shaped more like a grizzly though... probably dyed his fur temporarily as part of the disguise.

“ _T_ _here are many useful reasons in having you exposed_ ,” Rufinius had said. “ _Plan two steps ahead, and take a third. That is my motto._ ”

My eyes widen, and I sit up a little straighter as it clicks. That's it, isn't it? Everything Rufinius does he does for a purpose. If he's planning to... no, the ZIA might be thinking along those same lines. But what if...

My mind's racing. If I were planning a hustle, and if I were as ruthless as Gramps is... crap. If only I had access to the ZPD's network right now. But Chester's got my phone so I can't log in remotely. Plus Jack Savage is probably monitoring my network access. Which... might actually be a good thing. If I can't feed the ZIA information directly, maybe something a bit more subtle would be possible to help nudge them in the right direction.

That's it then. _That's_ how I'll get the message to the ZIA.

For now though the most I can do is sit here, watching the guests as they mill in one by one.

A light jazz tune has started up, and I tap my foot to the beat. One last limo pulls out of the alley... looks to be it in terms of guests. Forty-two mammals in total.

When Pearl returns with yet another drink he's also got a tray balanced on the other paw. It's a glass of champagne this time, and on the tray he's collected an assortment of the appetizers they're serving downstairs: pear and blue cheese tarts, smoked salmon and dill on toast, duck liver pate, puff pastry wedges filled with a chicken pot pie mix, caviar in a china spoon, raw oysters, and (the Prince's personal favorite) eel braised in red wine.

“Thanks, Pearl,” I smile. “It looks delicious. Did you get to eat?”

He shakes his head. “We're not allowed.”

“Well, you are around me. Come on, why don't you get a nice assortment of vegetarian ones and join us?”

Wist and Caramel glance up at me in astonishment. Like Pearl, they aren't used to being spoken to nicely.

Pearl trembles a little, but nods and heads back downstairs, passing by a familiar black panther in a waiter's uniform.

“Mr. Wi- Frisk? Mr. Frisk?” the cat says nervously as I begin eating. I've never had caviar before, and I can see why it's such a luxury food. It's gonna be a struggle to keep my svelte figure if the Sanguinis get to eat this good.

“Milo, right?” I say around a mouthful of oyster in a watermelon sauce.

“Y-yes,” he bows his head, “I... just wanted to apologize. For... for that night at the Lone Digger. I- we... we're not violent mammals. Really. It's just that we were on Blue that night and...”

“I get it,” I say, putting up a paw. I'm pretty pissed off though, and Milo must've picked it up from my tone, because his ears wilt and he trembles. He must remember just as well as I do that either he or Oliver had attacked Judy.

“I... if you're willing to forgive...” he gets down to his knees then. It's so disconcerting, seeing this guy grovel. “Maybe... I was hoping to ask a favor...”

I look at him. Even with him on his knees his head's a little higher than mine. “Well, depends on what it is.”

“I have a letter...” he says, reaching into his vest and pulling out an envelope. “For my mom. Our... my parent's house is on Sepulveda and Vine, number 919.”

I pause and nudge the plate away. “I don't see why you're asking me. Can't you talk to Sebastian or... or Jacob?” Calling Dad by his first name isn't as awkward as you might think. Part of me still thinks of him as John Wilde. “I'm sure they'll let you out of the Cathedral for a night if you...”

He shakes his head. His eyes are wide and filled with fear. I can almost smell him sweating in terror. “They're... they're intimidating, Sir.”

“And I'm not?”

His eyes meet mine, and they've grown big as teacups. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean...!”

I chuckle. “Relax, Milo. Seriously. Honestly, the last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt. All right, I'll see if I can talk to Sebastian for you.”

“Th-thanks...” Milo scrubs his forehead. “Though if you could get someone else to deliver it? Straight to my mother. It'd be best if they could do it in the afternoon, when my dad isn't there.”

I take him in for a moment. God, I've gotten old. At first I'd thought Milo here was some punk teenager who didn't care who he hurt, but he didn't need to tell me his sob story for me to figure it out. Whenever a young mammal commits a crime like his the first thing I think of is how horrible it must be for his family, knowing that, whether they deserved it or not, society was gonna lay some of the blame on 'em for what happened. Thing is, you never quite think about what a guy like Milo here is going through, especially now that his family is apparently severing all ties to him.

“All right,” I sigh. “I'll see what I can do.”

When Pearl returns he's carrying a small tray of fruit tarts. We enjoy them together, though the bunnies eat hesitantly. Even when they begin to relax they savor the treats slowly, knowing they probably won't enjoy food like this for a while. Rufinius keeps them on a pretty strict diet of greens and other vegetables, with the occasional bit of fruit or a pastry. It's not often they get to eat the same food as high-profile guests, and sitting at the same table as a fox, either.

Though Wist and Caramel try to play it casual and flirt, Pearl seems to be the only one who is genuinely comfortable to any degree.

Finally, after another hour, Brutus lumbers up the stairs to fetch me. I've had very few good experiences with polar bears, even fewer with polar bear enforcers, but Brutus bows respectfully and, without saying a word, ushers me down to the basement with my three bunnies following us.

The first thing to hit me is the smell of dozens of different colognes and perfumes masking the scents of as many mammals. It's all sweet and fruity, woody and floral, musky and herbaceous, impossible to sort one scent from another. The candle-lit speakeasy is decorated with old twenties-era décor, with mammals sitting on old chaise sofas, glasses in paw. Waiters circle the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres and presenting guests with cocktails and glasses of champagne.

I gaze up at the sea of masks and velvet hoods, trying to recognize anyone here from their physique or body language. No one here would be part of any social circle I've been in though, even the guests who are native to Zootopia.

“There he is!” Sebastian says cheerfully, raising a champagne glass and extending a paw towards me. “Might I present to you the new heir to the Frisk line.”

I remain silent as I slip through the crowd. I'm holding Pearl with one arm, Wist with the other, and Caramel trails behind me by just a pace. The dozens of mammals part gracefully, moving back as I slip through.

A lion approaches and presents himself with a gracious bow. His paw is big enough to wrap around my entire body, so I take his index finger and give it a shake. “An absolute delight to meet you,” he says in a husky purr through his cloth veil. The spreading fan of gold feathers around his mask looks like it's a second mane. “Such a relief to know that the Frisk franchise will continue.”

“Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Frisk,” an antelope says, slipping in and offering me her hoof. She has a lilting accent that I can only assume is fake, and she wears a mask of blue gems. “I don't suppose you have any ideas regarding new breeds in development? I purchased an Opal Oak from your grandfather ten years ago and he has been _such_ a sweet little thing.”

“Have you considered genetic modification?” a beaver asks from behind a mask of red rosebuds, “It would be so much more precise and efficient. Indeed there are some new coat colors that would be possible with just a bit of tinkering.”

“Now, now,” Sebastian breaks in, “This is only his first event, you mustn't overwhelm the poor tod. Now come, let's begin the auction.”

Sebastian takes a fork and taps it against the glass then, and the chatter of the crowd falls to a hush.

“Welcome, welcome! It's so _wonderful_ to see you all again. Now none of our guests here are new to the Frisk Carnivale, but it has been over twenty years since Zootopia has seen a gathering like this one. _That_ is certainly something to celebrate. And so, tonight all of you will receive a case of our quality premium-grade nip, whether you wish to buy, rent, or,” he says with a wink, “are here simply for the hors d'oeuvres.”

A round of chuckles rolls through the crowd.

“Now! If you'll all move to take your seats on either side of the room, we'll move onto the main event. Tonight we have four males and four females up for auction, representing some of the best of our special breeds. All bunnies being sold tonight are certified as pristine, but not to worry, folks! They've been trained to please regardless of size.”

As Sebastian had directed, the masked guests move to the two rows of seats that've been set on either side of the room. He looks at me with his pearl-white smile, gesturing graciously to the stand at the bar. I thought I'd been prepared for this, but I was wrong. The moment the lights dim, save for a ceiling lamp in the middle of the room casting down a circle of illumination like a spotlight, I start to feel queasy. Eight rabbits are about to be sold off into slavery right in front of me, and I can't do a goddamn thing to stop it.

“Our first item,” Sebastian declares with a grand, sweeping gesture. He really has a flair for theatrics, “Is a classic Floral Spot.”

A slim little figure steps out of the shadows then, draped in a long, hooded robe. Sebastian pulls the hood back, and a pair of dark ears straighten up immediately.

The cloth falls away then, revealing crisp blue eyes and white fur, though gray spots dot her body. She's scantily clad, wearing only a thin strip of cloth over her breasts and a golden belt around her waist. Only a few thin lengths of cloth dangling from the belt cover anything below her waist.

“Lily here is a lovely third-generation doe. I'm sure that you all recall from her audition video that she has a lovely singing voice. But though she has truly exquisite oral talents, Lily is also trained in dance, reciting poetry, and painting. Bidding will start at two hundred thousand.”

A lion raises a paddle showing the number ten.

“Our first bid! Two hundred thousand from number ten, do I see two fifty? Two fifty for number eighteen, do I see three hundred?”

The bidding continues at a rapid pace, all while Lily sways, walking up and down the line of mammals who would buy her. She stares blankly at no one in particular, with her mouth fixed in an empty smile. Could she be drugged? Or brainwashed into thinking that this is the right thing for her? Or is she like any other mammal, feeling terrified and alone?

“Nine hundred and fifty thousand!” Sebastian declares. A significant number of bidders have dropped off now, and only a pawful continue on. “Ah, apologies, but I did forget to mention that, as a premium pet, Lily here has been kept on a special diet of apricots and violet blossoms. I can assure you, her own little flower is sweet as honey and just as fragrant.”

He looks up with delight. “One million! One million for number twenty-two!”

And then she looks at me.

Our eyes don't meet, not through the cloth mask I'm wearing, but for a split second the dim lighting hits her just right, and I swear I could see gray fur and violet eyes. My heart skips a beat, and my paw twitches with the urge to reach out and stop this. Deep down I know I can't save her, I can't save any of them, but I could at least...

“Sold!” Sebastian declares, “For one million and two hundred thousand to patron number twenty-three!”

The thought dies as quickly as it's taken shape.

 

~~~~~

 

Two hours later I'm lying on my bed at the Twilight Cathedral. Pearl is snuggled up next to me, chest rising and falling with his breaths. My clothes, my mask, my everything lie scattered on the floor. I'd torn off all that finery in disgust the moment we'd returned, snarling with helpless rage.

What would Judy think of me, just standing there stiff and frozen like an idiot as eight bunnies were sold into slavery? What would she have done? Well, she's an idealist. She would've tried to stop it. She wouldn't have hesitated when it comes to jumping into action to do the right thing. But then again I'd like to think she's gotten smarter after being around me for so long, learned that you gotta bide your time and intervene at the right place and the right time.

Still, part of me is tempted to take her aside tomorrow, to tell her everything in the middle of the ZPD. With all of Elkredge's security measures there's nowhere safer for her to stay. She could stay with Tarquin in the kit's interview room. Sure she wouldn't have her plush bunnies with her, but she could always cuddle up to the show-me-where-he-touched-you dollies on the padded floor. Eat frozen alfalfa loaves and microwavable carrot meals every day.

Yeah. She'd never stand for any of that.

Besides, someone had been able to sneak that letter into the ZPD, which means someone has access. And I can't trust some faceless mammal who only _says_ he's my friend through an anonymous letter, especially if that trust might just get Judy killed.

Plus Rufinius knows I have plenty of other weak spots too. Mom, for one. Maybe they'd even go after Finnick. Or Ruby and Tommy. And of course there's Flash.

That's the problem with knowing everyone: you've got plenty of soft spots.

“Are you all right, Sir?” Pearl asks, nuzzling up against my arm.

“Not really.”

“Would you like me to please you? I could help you think about something else for a little while...”

He runs his paw along my tummy, fingers dancing along the waistband of my boxers. Strangely enough it's kinda tempting, just a little. Especially knowing that Pearl's been trained to be with foxes in particular. But of course I can't let him do that, not when the only bunny I want is Judy.

“Thanks, Pearl. But you should just go to sleep,” I tell him.

I only wish sleep can come as easily for me. With the pills keeping me awake though, I'm gonna have to stew on this for another two hours at least.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Damn I accidentally updated the wrong story so I accidentally deleted my notes!
> 
> Well to keep things a bit short this time around, I just wanted to say that I suspect Benjy's reaction here might be familiar to some people. Maybe you've been on the delivery end of this vicious, overreactive fury. Or you might've been the target. But this sort of thing only really ever happens with people you're really close to, because when your family or lover knows all the intimate elements of your life and you're attached to each other by blood there's no need for a social filter. You're gonna wake up the next day knowing that whatever you said last night, you'll still be family. And that sort of reasoning leads to really nasty conflicts.
> 
> The auction here might've been trimmed a bit, but I wanted to give a bit of a vignette of our side characters: Chester (always super fun to write), Sebastian (the psycho who makes a dangerous friend and ally), Pearl (poor, sweet little thing), and Milo (cinnamon roll). I also wanted to show the rather surreal side of the Frisk's criminal empire: the odd juxtaposition between seedy elements of organized crime and the classy high society elements interwoven into it. The Frisks have been central pillars of Zootopia's elite for centuries, and even when they were living in exile they still had operations in the city-states surrounding Zootopia on occasion, so they still had some peripheral presence here.
> 
> The auction scene itself was also largely inspired by the auction scene in Taken. If only Liam Neeson could've saved them all. :(


	19. The Lion and the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has a night out, Judy's date night, Lionheart has a surprise guest

_**Danny Kaplan** _

 

For the third time already, I unfurl the tie and try to redo it. I just about never wear anything formal, so I don't have much practice in getting the length right. At first it's too short, then it's too long, then it's too short again. Granted it's going to come off the moment I arrive, so maybe I should've invested in a clip-on instead. Thing is, Mayor Lionheart really loves tying my wrists, so it's just me being considerate and giving him stuff to work with here.

Once again I'm borrowing Benjy's uniform, and as usual it's a bit baggy on me. He doesn't wear a police officer's cap either, so I'm just repurposing one from a stripper's outfit from a gig I'd done a few years ago. It's been a while since I've had a night with the Mayor... I wonder if he's picked up any new tricks in prison?

There, finally. Tie's done.

Luke purrs and gives my shoulder a kiss before he rolls my collar down.

“You wanna come along?” I say, straightening out the shirt and looking up at his reflection in the mirror. “I'm sure Lionheart wouldn't say no to a threesome.”

“Real sweet of you to offer,” he grins. “but I'd just be a third wheel.”

“You sure you'd be all right by yourself?”

“Of course. I got nip, snacks, and a bunch of Spongebob to binge through,” Luke gives me a hug and a goodbye kiss as I call up a Zuber. “You have fun, all right?”

Luke's right of course. I'd only extended the invitation to be polite, but I do need this all for myself. We don't have to say these things out loud really. Me and Luke just understand all this stuff about one another. Still, it's nice to make these sorts of things known explicitly.

More than our ability to communicate though is the fact that Luke has no problem with me sleeping around when I need to. We know when to give each other permission to be selfish.

The driver's a male skunk, and he isn't one for much chitchat. I just stare out the window as the nighttime glow of the city swims by: neon signs and the warm illumination from every other window, the strings of lights woven through the trees like it's Christmas. Even though most of the stores are beginning to close it's kinda reassuring to know that even though the day's starting to end for most mammals, beneath the stars the City still has a subdued pulse beating through its veins.

I just wish Benjy could see the same wonders that I do. But no, he had to go and become a cop, and now it's like all he can see is the ugly.

The guy's been moody and withdrawn lately. Hell, the both of us have been avoiding each other if I want to be real honest here. Ever since he snapped at me earlier in the week things have been different. I'd like to think this'd blow over like it usually does, but I've never seen him so _intense_ before.

He still does stuff around the household. Benjy preps our meals, boxes the curry he makes into individual tupperware portions with saffron rice like always. But there's just something so passive-aggressive about it now. He's been heading to work earlier so I don't see him in the mornings; the guy just leaves our portion of breakfast on the table. By the time we come home from practice and hanging out with the crew he's walled himself up in his room, so me and Luke are left to have dinner by ourselves.

I wish I knew how things had changed between us. When we were kits the two of us were inseparable. There was of course the natural bond between twin brothers, but there's always been something deeper, something unspoken about how we were connected. I'd known it my entire life. Even when Gramma consulted that fortuneteller about the two of us I wasn't surprised when I learned the truth while eavesdropping. What she said simply made sense, and it put into context everything I'd known my entire life.

Ever since then I'd kept the fortuneteller's words close, but as time went on the two of us drifted apart. I'd done everything I could to keep us together, sad and clingy as that sounds. But despite it all Benjy went his way and I went mine. In high school, at least.

When he suggested that the two of us move to Zootopia together I thought he'd finally come around, that we were on the same page. We were gonna reconnect and find ourselves again. Did he finally remember the special bond we once had? Did he finally understand why we were born together, why the two of us were just _meant_ for one another?

No. No, he didn't.

He was right though. I hadn't meant to, not consciously. It wasn't some plot or anything, the way I'd sabotage his relationships with my antics. As for the string of hookups... deep down I'm not that big of a whore. At first I meant to just make him jealous, or at least horny enough to get him to come to bed with me like he used to.

No tigress could please him the way I could: I knew all his sweet spots, how much pressure he liked, the rhythm of his body. I've even surreptitiously checked his browser history to figure out his turn-ons.

I know what Benjy wants. But if I gotta be honest with myself... I've been also keeping him from what he _needs_.

I slip out of my musings just as the car pulls to a stop.

Lionheart's mansion has a nice, modern design to it. There's an open-air lounge area beside the pool, with couches surrounding a brazier. High glass walls for the building itself give it a comfortable openness, while the interior walls are paneled with dark wood decorated with old tribal masks. Tonight though all the curtains are drawn, most of the lights are off, and when the Mayor greets me at the door he's wearing his full suit and tie.

He gets off on the uniform, I get off on his stacked DILF body hidden beneath the formality of his position.

“Officer Kaplan,” he says with that rich, sonorous voice of his. His mouth curves into a coy smile.

“Mayor Lionheart,” I say, tipping my hat.

“Please, come in. Would you like a drink?” he asks.

“Sure. Got any Jagermeister?” Lionheart is too butch for mixed drinks. He takes his booze neat.

“Of course,” he says, taking out two glasses from his wine cabinet. “How is your brother doing?”

“He's fine,” I lie. Part of me had wanted to vent, but I'd seen where that got me. Besides, Lionheart is a great lay, but it's not like we're friends or anything. Plus I'm worried that if I open up to him and tell him how unstable Benjy is right now he might just pull some strings in the background and get him taken off the case, and then Benjy would _really_ hate me.

When I toss back my triple-shot of Jagermeister in one gulp though he raises an eyebrow.

“Eager, are we?” he's smiling, but there's a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Well, it _has_ been a long time,” I purr, wrapping my arms around his neck. God he smells so good... rich and musky, and so very, very _male_. He's the more bookish type too, and though he is no Benjy he doesn't skimp on the gym, either. It really is surprising how some politicians can be so fit.

Guess that's one thing he and I have in common. We've both got an image to maintain.

He runs his paw over my head with a look of concern in his eyes. There's something paternal about that touch, like he's the dad I'd barely known, but Lionheart knows as well as I do that we're just here for a toss in the sheets and nothing more.

Maybe he wants an actual relationship. I toy with the idea a little. Sure he'd be able to pamper me and Luke, but I'm sick of people trying to take care of me. Right now, I just want a connection spiced with a bit of the forbidden.

I perch up on my toes and lock muzzles with him, running a paw along his chest. In this kiss I can taste the brandy he's been sipping, though in the back of my mind I wish I were savoring the taste of anise seeds and turmeric, the taste of a tiger who is no stranger to spice.

Pulling away with a smile now Lionheart takes my paw and guides me to the bedroom. Ties are loosened, buttons are undone, belts are unbuckled. My stripper's cap flops onto the floor and rolls aside. A thick paw slips between the open ends of my shirt (well, Benjy's shirt), stroking bare fur and the hard curves of my muscles. The tie dangles loose around my neck, the waistband of Benjy's pants have slipped beneath the plump curve of my ass.

Laying on my stomach with my tail in the air, I hear the crinkle of a foil packet. I turn around and glance at Lionheart over my shoulder. He knows I usually want it raw, but unlike most evolved, modern cats Lionheart has got a spiny cock like our ancestors used to. It's not as bad as it sounds, especially when he uses a certain prescription ointment to keep 'em nice and soft so it just adds a bit of texture when he fucks me. I'm guessing though that since he's still kinda fresh from getting released from prison he hasn't thought about applying it in a while.

Grudgingly I let him slip the rubber on himself. Sighing into the sheets, I close my eyes as he holds my hip and slides into me. There's that sharp moment of discomfort, the feeling of being spread wide, and the warm, happy pressure of his maleness throbbing against my sweet spot. I'm leaking onto the sheets, all while I'm imagining another cat: one who shares my baby blue eyes, and with paws stained yellow from turmeric.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“Mmmm...” I sigh, pulling Nick's tail around me. “I've missed this so much.”

He kisses the top of my head. In the distance the City is shining like a dream. Despite everything I'd seen recently... the hate crimes, the drug epidemic, the murders... it's still so beautiful. A place where anyone can be anything. Mom and Dad might be worried, but I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

Besides, it's my job to help clean it up, and Zootopia is worth fighting for.

“Same,” Nick sighs, planting his muzzle right between my ears. His paws wander around my torso, like he still wants to feel every inch of me. Even after all this time he hasn't gotten entirely used to being with a bunny. Though to be fair, I still get a little awed when I explore his body. He's just so sleek and lithe, and I think he's even put on a little muscle in the past few weeks.

“Of course we would've gotten to this _way_ earlier if you were okay staying over at my place,” I say, savoring the feeling of his tail against my bare fur. Nick had been spontaneous about our date night yet again, and he'd come to my door with his picnic basket and Finnick waiting downstairs in his van. I'd never realized how great it was having a vegetarian fox as a boyfriend... he really knows how to make a fantastic bunny-friendly sandwich.

“You know, despite what you might think, I'm not too crazy about eavesdroppers during sex.”

“Well,” I sigh, and Nick squeezes me tight, “Bucky and Pronk aren't so bad really. I'll just have to ask when they'll have a late night out again.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Nick sounds so distant. In fact, he's been pretty distant ever since the night of the warehouse fire. We hadn't been ordered to see Dr. Conall for a checkup, so at first I thought that meant we were probably going to be okay. But as the days went by I'd been getting pretty clear signs that it'd affected Nick more severely than I'd expected.

Not that I'm doing _perfectly_ well myself of course. A couple nights afterward I'd had nightmares of those poor sheep being burned alive. It only got worse after we identified them, because now I sometimes see glimpses of them in my dreams, and a scarred face just staring at me from the darkness.

“Nick?” I murmur, running a paw along his forearm. “Please tell me, how are you doing?”

“Gimme five minutes and I could go another round.”

“No, I meant... personally. With this case.”

And once again he goes quiet. There used to be a time where I wouldn't be able to shut him up. Now though I know him well enough to realize that he messes with mammals the way he does to forget about his own troubles. And if he stops cracking jokes or trying to deflect with his usual snark, he's in a _really_ bad place.

“Nick?” I murmur, squeezing his paw.

“You know, I think if something ever happened to me, I'm pretty sure you'd be able to move on,” he whispers.

I can feel his breath against my ears, humid even on this warm early autumn night. I can't see his eyes, not with him spooning me from behind, but I know he's staring at the City. Is his voice beginning to crack? Did he just snuffle? His paw cups my chest, like he's feeling my heartbeat.

“And y'know, that's a good thing,” he continues, “If something happened, I don't want you to get hung up on me, Carrots.”

“Nick... Nick, stop...” I turn around, nudging his arms aside. I run a paw along his muzzle then. It's so long and narrow, and his whiskers are wiry. His eyes are bright and dewy, lit with the blue-and-gold lights of the City behind me. “If, and I mean _if_ something did happen to you, it wouldn't be _that_ easy for me.”

“I'm not saying that...” I don't know if it's the post-coital depression-slash-guilt hitting him or what, but something in his eyes is starting to scare me. “It's just... if we never met, you'd probably just be chugging along as the ZPD's top officer. But me... I'd probably be passed out in a ditch right now with a bottle in my paw.”

“If we never met I would've been fired and I'd be back on the farm in Bunnyburrow.”

Nick sighs, and cups my cheek with his paw. My fingers curl around his, and I nuzzle into his palm as he continues. “Well, it's just... I'm so scared of losing you. You know how Danny got all worried he might lose his brother? Me, I think about what'd happen if I lost you, what I'd have to go back to. After being with you, I don't know how I'd survive on my own...”

“Nick, if you really want me to quit the task force...” I begin, but he shakes his head.

“I know I can't ask you to do that. I mean, it's kind of a slippery slope, isn't it? Maybe I'll start getting worried about you being on active duty and ask you to stick to desk work. Or maybe I'll just keep pushing and eventually we'll both end up going back to parking duty,” he sighs. “Just... be careful, okay? Promise me you won't just jump into the action like you did at the Lone Digger...”

“You're really going to need to learn to let things go in this relationship.”

“...and if anything happens to me...”

“Stop,” I say firmly, and grip his muzzle shut with one paw. His eyes pop open in surprise. Does he really think it'd be so easy for me? As if just because I have such a large family I'd have so many loved ones to help me get through it?

When bunnies bond with a mate, when we _really_ bond, we don't get over loss easily. I've had aunts and uncles just give up on life when their mates passed away early. They'd refuse to eat, they'd barely move out of their beds. It becomes a bit of a family emergency to keep them alive long enough to grieve and move on.

Of course I can't tell Nick that. Not right now at least. That'd just make him so much more worried.

Instead I just plant a kiss on his muzzle, run my fingers along the insides of his ears. He isn't quite as sensitive there as I am, but he does roll his head back and let out a faint moan.

“If life's gonna be that dangerous for us,” I say, nuzzling into the nape of his neck, “We should enjoy every moment we've got right now.”

“S-sly bunny...” he pants.

“Dumb fox...” I breathe.

His paws have slid down to cup my thighs, and his thumbs move in between my legs, gently hooking up and in with gentle swirls. I let out a squeak as the warm tingle rushes along my spine.

Twenty minutes later we're laying side by side, with rumpled and sticky napkins bunched up on the grass. I'm just a little sore down there, but I cup my lower belly with a deep sense of satisfaction. Another, racier benefit of interspecies dating is that we don't need to use any protection or worry about it failing even if we did. There's something so fulfilling about knowing that Nick's left a bit of himself inside me, and that I'll be carrying it around with me for a while.

My breathing's finally settled back down, and I plant another few kisses on Nick's muzzle. There are so many ways to kiss his pointy face, and from so many angles. I can't just do it once.

“We should head back,” I pull the Musk Mask out of the picnic basket and give myself a good couple sprays. “Finnick's probably finished his nap by now.”

“Hey Carrots?” Nick says as he accepts the canister from me, “Sorry if I sounded like I was in a mood earlier. I forgot to take my antidepressants this afternoon, so I guess I'm just acting a little crazy.”

“No...” I smile up at him, “You were making a lot of sense. I guess we'll just have to be extra careful protecting each other then.”

“Yeah...” Nick says, stroking my cheek. Even though he's smiling again now, I know he's still worried deep down. “I'll do everything I can to protect you.”

Finnick's still snoring away when we get back to his van, picnic basket in paw and the blanket thrown over Nick's shoulder. Nick gives the window a little tap, and Finnick snorts and rubs his eyes as he sits back up.

“Hey big guy,” Nick grins as the fennec rolls down the window.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm comin',” he grunts and heads to the back to open the double-doors for us. His nose twitches, his muzzle wrinkling a bit. Musk Mask can't cover up everything, apparently. Maybe he's just wondering how much he'll have to scrub to get the residual scent out of the carpet. I'm not the modest country bunny so many mammals seem to think I am, but I still feel my ears blushing.

“For your trouble,” Nick says as he gives Finnick a wad of twenties. “There's a little something extra for you in there too.”

Finnick gives the wad of bills in his paw a funny look, and I almost catch something when he glances back up at Nick. It's nothing big of course, just a niggling little hint of suspicion that something is going on between the two of them. Besides, Nick and Finnick had been friends for years, so who knows what's going on between those guys.

And then my phone rings.

Pulling it out I notice the number is from the front desk of the ZPD. We've been working six days a week ever since we took on this case, but the guys at the precinct know damn sure that Saturday is supposed to be our day off. Well, it can't be helped. Swiping my finger across the screen I'm barely able to say a quick “Hi, Clawhauser!” before his panicked voice squeals over the line.

“Hopps! It's Officer Kaplan! He's been _attacked_!”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Leodore Lionheart** _

 

The lukewarm water sluices over my body. I've always been one to prefer cooler showers myself. Granted hot water would be much better for cleaning off the greasy residue of lube down there, but I'll just make do for now.

It's wonderful, having the opportunity to mount Danny again. It's hard finding a sexual partner being in my position and at my age, but Danny has always respected my need for discretion and he actually enjoys the age play between us. The difference in maturity really shows when we sleep together too.

Ah to be young again, and to have his stamina.

Still, I'd like to think I did well enough. We'd been rutting for a solid hour, though I'd almost passed out that last time I climaxed inside of him. If only I'd continued to apply my ointment for the past week I would've been able to fill him properly, but as it is the both of us will just have to be satisfied with the aftermath being a little less sticky than it usually is.

Wrapping the towel around myself I return to the bedroom. I haven't washed my mane... it'd take ages for it to dry out, and I'm still hoping for a cuddle with him.

I'd expected Danny to be playing on his cellphone like he usually does. Hrmph. Millenials. Back in my day we had this thing called pillow talk. But when I enter he's already finishing up the buttons for his uniform.

Danny glances over his shoulder at me with a smile. “Mayor.”

“Danny...” my paw tightens around the towel at my waist. “I was hoping you'd stay for the night.”

“Nah, I really should get back home. I don't want my brother to worry.”

“And here I thought that was precisely why you came tonight. To make him worry.”

He hadn't needed to mention Benjy, but I know ulterior motives when I see them. A very useful skill in my career.

“Wellll...” he says, dragging out the word with a lazy shrug. “Maybe a little.”

I sigh. “Look, just a bit of advice from someone who's older and hopefully a little wiser... what's going on between you and Officer Kaplan... it can't continue like this. You need to _talk_ to him.”

I'd lost my own family long ago. Oh we'd had our disagreements and our fights, but when there's bad blood among brothers, things get truly ugly. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of bond Danny and Benjy have, and I can't truly understand what they'd gone through for it to become so strained. A small, selfish part of me has toyed with the idea of just letting this run its course and being there to comfort Danny when it all falls to shit, but despite what so many voters think I've got my principles, and I stick to them.

“I don't even know where to start,” Danny murmurs, “He's so _stubborn_.”

“Try sitting in a on a few City Council meetings. I think that'd help put into perspective what 'stubborn' can truly mean.”

Danny chuckles at that. I've never spoken with Benjy Kaplan, only met him a couple of times at public ceremonies with him in uniform, but from how Danny's described him I think he has much more in common with his older brother than he thinks. Danny also has a hard time communicating his feelings.

I mean, we've been sleeping together off and on for at least two years now, and he's spoken about a lot on his personal issues while I held him in my arms, with the both of us naked and the sweat cooling on our fur. But it's still so unclear as to where we are with each other, and he's never been forthright in pinning things down. Are we friends with benefits? Casual lovers? Am I just one of his many hookups? Or would he ever want there to be something more?

He's doing up his tie now, and with a sigh I lean down to pick up his hat.

Perhaps I shouldn't have pressed. With the social gap and age difference it probably isn't appropriate for me to give him any sort of life advice.

When I pass him the hat though Danny's eyes widen, and his shocked gaze stares past me over my shoulder. Spinning around I look in horror as a black fox skulking towards us, a knife in each paw. Behind him the curtains flutter beside an open window.

With the grace of a dancer Danny throws me aside as the fox lunges, slashing at the space where I'd just stood. Danny lets out a yelp of pain and stumbles backward, but the fox slips in like a shadow, driving the other knife forward. With a soft whine Danny stares down at the blade that'd sunk into his middle.

The fox yanks it out mercilessly in a spray of blood, and the young tiger crumples to his knees with eyes wide and his paws clutching his stomach, a soft whimper of pain escaping his open mouth. Those cold, silver eyes turn on me, glaring as if that gaze could cut me to the bone.

I may be a lion, but brave as my species is even I will flee when I'm stared down by death incarnate.

Scrambling out into the hall, still gripping the towel, I run towards the front door. Maybe I can make it to the street, or to a neighbor, where I can get someone to call for help. Yet death is fast as the wind, and a hard knee strikes me in the middle of my back and knocks me to the ground. He's silent as a shadow, this fox, but his teeth still make a sharp snapping sound when they bite down hard on my mane. Using it as an anchor, the assassin steadies himself as I land hard on the floor, bouncing once before sliding to a stop on the dark polished bamboo.

Any call for help is cut off when I feel those blades crossing over my throat.

“W-wait...” I whimper, still holding my head up. My neck is bared to his daggers, the weight of him is pressing down on my back. “Please... I- I know who you are...”

He hesitates, but I smell nothing off of him. Not a trace of sweat, or hint of adrenaline, not a bit of fox-musk. He doesn't even seem to be breathing. There's only the metallic scent of Danny's blood drifting up from that razor-sharp steel.

“I... I know what was done to you. To your family. It... it was wrong, and I'm sorry for everything that's happened. But you have to believe me: I was _never_ a part of it. I never had any part in what they did to you. By the time that happened I'd left to live my own life.”

The blades are pressing closer in on my neck. Any further and he would be slicing past the fur and into raw flesh.

“P-please...” I mewl. I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears. If I hadn't just gone to the bathroom I swear I might just be pissing myself in terror. “I had nothing to do with it. I had nothing to do with it...”

The tears are crawling down my cheeks, but just as I'm certain that I'll be feeling the smooth, almost painless slash of my throat being opened, those knives slide away from me instead. The weight on my back vanishes. Turning around I look back and forth, up and down the hall. Mr. Smythe has disappeared.

It takes a moment before the strength flows back into my legs, and I'm able to stumble back into the bedroom. There, lying on his back is Danny. His weak paws are clutching the wound in his stomach, and his eyes are wide with terror. He's struggling to breathe, and each moment that passes he's getting one inch closer to death.

“Danny...” I gasp. “Danny, stay with me!”

Grabbing my cellphone off the nightstand, I rip the towel from my waist and press it as firmly as I can against his wound. My paw is trembling as I dial, and pressing the phone to my ear I hear the operator answer.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Mayor Lionheart! I've been attacked at my manor and Officer Kaplan is down!” I say in a panic. “Please, I need an ambulance right away!”

Danny's head has rolled to one side, and the tears are dripping onto the floor. Kneeling beside him I take a deep breath, and press my mouth to his.

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA FILE CIR-332.64** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **NAME:** Jacob Cornelius Frisk (Codename: “The Prodigal”)

 

 **SPECIES:** Fox (Red)

 

 **BIRTH DATE:** [UNKNOWN] (Estimated to be in his early-to-mid-50s)

 

 **HEIGHT:** 4'0”-4'2” (approx)

 

 **WEIGHT:** 80-85 lbs (approx)

 

 **NOTABLE FEATURES:** None

 

 **HISTORY:** No record of Jacob Frisk (hereafter referred to as “Jacob”) exists before 1996. Whether he was born overseas, living under an alternate identity, or has been completely isolated in the Twilight Cathedral until this point is unknown. While it was once believed that Jacob is the heir to the Frisk family line, reports of tensions within the upper ranks of the Vulpes Sanguinis suggest that Jacob has not been favored by the Prince. This puts his codename, “Prodigal,” in an interesting new context.

The earliest reports of Jacob Frisk's activities comes from none other than [REDACTED]. This report (though somewhat jaundiced) paints Jacob as a cold-blooded murderer, ruthless and pragmatic. While this source reports that he had heard of multiple executions committed by Jacob, one that can be directly confirmed is the murder of [REDACTED]. ZIA liberation of “the Farm” in 1996 ( _see incident report 76152.88 for full details_ ) where the witness was recovered also led to the discovery of the body of [REDACTED], corroborating his story. Body was identified as [REDACTED] who had gone missing and was presumed kidnapped in 1985. Subject was returned to Bunnyburrow for burial.

By 2009 with the death of [REDACTED], reports surfaced that Jacob Frisk had taken over the role of Master-at-Arms for the Vulpes Sanguinis. Before this, he had been implicated in [REDACTED] which led to the deaths of two ZIA agents and the loss of [REDACTED].

Until recently, Jacob has kept a relatively low profile, with few confirmed sightings at incident sites. However, in August of 2017, Jacob Frisk was reported by [REDACTED] as being subordinate to Sebastian Dusk alongside Mr. Smythe. Subject who reported these events is now in ZIA custody.

 

 **TALENTS:** As Master-at-Arms, Jacob is presumably one of the Vulpes Sanguinis' top combatants as he would be responsible for overseeing the training of Praetors. Survivors of the rare encounters with him indicate that Jacob has exceptional aim with firearms and is a master of paw-to-paw combat. Rumor has it that he also possesses very keen senses, even among Praetors, with an excellent sense of vision and smell. His ability to adapt to new situations and adjust his tactics for facing different species makes him especially deadly, particularly when larger mammals underestimate him due to his size.

 

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:** The only report of Jacob Frisk's psychological nature comes from [REDACTED]. Due to the nature of this source, one must exercise extreme skepticism in interpreting it.

[REDACTED] claims that Jacob Frisk is a heartless and ruthlessly pragmatic mammal. A “monster,” as he has been described. At other points Jacob has been described as a “filthy bastard,” “fucking eunuch,” and “inbred abomination,” and multiple psychoses have been attributed to him ranging from sociopathy to sadistic personality disorder. Needless to say, this report is less than credible, but as of now this is the best we have.

 

 

 _Addendum 1 (December 11, 20XX):_ If Jacob Cornelius Frisk is ever captured alive, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES is Agent Jack Savage (ID# 057) to be left alone with him for any period of time. Any interaction between the two is to be allowed ONLY with my explicit written authorization. ~The Director

 

 _Addendum 2 (January 8, 20XX):_ Aww Director, do you really think I'd be capable of that? I'm blushing. ~Agent Savage (ID# 057)

 

 _Addendum 3 (January 9, 20XX):_ Yes. ~The Director

 

 _Addendum 4 (January 9, 20XX):_ GASP! Sempai noticed me! ~Agent Savage (ID# 057)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Hooray! Finally, some physical action.
> 
> I should note: Luke and Danny very much have an open relationship. A couple of my beta readers said that they "feel sorry for Luke," but truth is it's not all that uncommon these days. I think if asked Luke would say he's perfectly happy with the way things are. Getting some wiggle room to play around just helps them blow off some steam. Plus, if they mutually like another mammal they'll be more than happy to do a threesome.
> 
> I'm still trying to pin down Judy's "voice" correctly. I think part of it is that I struggle with getting into the mindset of a woman. It might also be because Judy is an optimist at heart and that just does not fit me at all.
> 
> Lionheart's section was really fun though. He has an older, more mature mindset to him and trying to think in his terms for this story was great. Even though Danny is edging towards 30, Lionheart still thinks of him as a kid. In particular I rather liked the line "Hrmph. Millenials. Back in my day we had this thing called pillow talk." The generation gap is both significant and awkward, so Lionheart can't help but feel a little paternal here. Which, he realizes, make things even more awkward.
> 
> Also, we have yet another ZIA file! Here we see a bit of Jack's more goofball nature. I think he uses humor to help cover up how damaged he is.


	20. The Scent of a Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy has a conversation with Lionheart, Jack speaks to Lionheart in turn.

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

At first I was confused when I got the call. Officer Kaplan in the hospital? That's a weird sort of prank, isn't it? It'd taken far too long for it to click though, what was really happening, and I'd become well and truly pissed off with myself for not realizing fifteen seconds sooner.

I shouldn't be driving, not in my state, but with Danny having just been attacked I don't trust some cabbie to get me to the hospital with any real sense of urgency. I'm weaving back and forth through traffic like I've gone insane, I'm running red lights. I'm pretty sure I've been caught on at least three jam cams, but I don't fucking care. Danny's bleeding out... he's _dying_ , and I should've been at his side the moment he was wheeled in.

My car nearly scrapes the side of another when I swerve into the empty space in the lot. I'm pretty sure I'm double-parked, but I'll just eat the ticket when it comes to that. Leaping out of the door I sprint towards the hospital, dodging past a pair of camels and shoving aside a zebra who lets out an offended yelp. The goat at the front desk bleats in terror when I roar at him for a visitor's badge, and he takes my photo and prints one out for me as fast as possible, hooves shaking the whole time.

Slapping it on my chest I storm down the hall. You can't run in a hospital, I know that much. I'm a stickler for the rules, and right now I really hate that fact about myself because my heart's racing and the thought of my twin brother taking his last breath while I'm halfway to his room is killing me with each step.

When I finally arrive at the ICU Nick and Judy and Luke are already there, holding each other in one big hug. Agent Savage is here too, talking to a caribou doctor, along with the Mayor himself. Seeing the crowd here... that's when I get _really_ pissed off.

“Why the _fuck_ was I the last one notified?!” I snarl.

My partners look up at me, startled.

“It- it was a case of mistaken identity,” Nick stutters. “The first responders didn't know you had a twin. So when the report came in... no one even _thought_ to contact you until recently.”

“They're working on him now,” Judy sniffs, her arms still wrapped around Nick's middle. She looks so small and delicate, the way she's crying. “They... they say he was poisoned when he was attacked.”

 _Poisoned_? What the fuck were we dealing with?

The Mayor turns and looks at me then, bewildered. It's a little odd seeing him looking somewhat ruffled... he's only wearing a loose pair of pants and a white shirt that hasn't been buttoned up all the way, like he'd just thrown on his clothes at the last minute. My eyes widen when I catch the scent of feline sex intermingled with the coppery scent of blood, and I see the faint red stains that he hadn't been able to wash off entirely from his paws.

Lionheart looks even more startled when I begin to stare him down.

“I should leave,” he says briskly, adjusting his shirt. “We can continue this tomorrow if that's all right, Jack.”

“Hey...” I begin, just as Lionheart slips out of the waiting room.

“Officer Kaplan?” the caribou in the white coat says as she turns to me, “I'm Dr. Vadzaya, I'm in charge of your brother's care.”

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to stay calm. When I speak it's through gritted teeth and bared fangs. “What. Happened.”

“Well... I'll leave the precise details of the attack to Agent Savage here, but suffice it to say that your brother... he suffered two main injuries. There was a superficial laceration along his left forearm, and he was also stabbed in the stomach. It's not that deep of a penetrating wound; the knife missed the vital organs. But the weapons that were used were coated with a very powerful nerve toxin, enough that it'd paralyzed the muscles surrounding his lungs. We still don't know how long he's gone without oxygen, but we're holding out hope that the ambulance got there quick enough that there isn't too much brain damage...”

Brain damage. Somehow, a small part of me hiding in the back of my mind thinks that's funny. Danny himself would be laughing at the thought. “ _Yeah, sure! Just layer it over the rest of the crap I put my noggin through!_ ”

I'm going on autopilot now, because the next thing I know I'm pushing past the doctor and I'm striding down the hall. I don't see the fucker. He must've tried getting away from me as fast as he can. Yet I'd just come down this hall and I take the first turn I recognize. There, down the corridor, I see the flick of a lion's tail as the elevator doors close behind him.

Fuck!

I shove through into the stairwell, racing down the steps two or three at a time. I can hear Luke and Nick and Judy calling out to me in hot pursuit, but I ignore them as I chase down my quarry. The moment I shove through to the lobby I see him pushing through the revolving doors and into the parking lot.

“Lionheart! LIONHEART!” I roar.

He ignores me as he scampers down the steps, but by the time we reach the street I've caught up with him. My paw shoots out, and I grab a fistful of his mane and shove him muzzle-first into the side of a bus stop. The convex plexiglass surface rattles when his head slams into it.

“AUGH!”

There's an old question kids used to ask us on the playground: who could beat who in a fight? A lion or a tiger? Us tigers historically went at it alone in brawls, so lions who depended on battling in packs would be at a disadvantage going toe-to-toe with us. But lions were supposed to be the kings of the jungle, right?

Right now though, it's tiger. It's fucking tiger all the way.

Lionheart turns around and bats my paw away, letting out an indignant “Officer Kaplan! What do you think you're-” before I grab him by the front of the shirt with both paws and slam him against the clear surface once more. His skull cracks against it. Hard.

“What the FUCK was my brother doing with you?!” I roar into his face. Lionheart, the soft and pampered politician that he is, withers in my grip.

“O-Officer Kaplan, I assure you...”

“What was this? Some kind of hit job? An assassination attempt against you? My brother is fucking _dying_ because you dragged him into your sheets and _he_ was the one who took the knife instead?!”

“I saved his _life_ , Kaplan!” Lionheart snarls. “And your brother was the one who called _me_!”

“Bullshit!” Danny might be a bit of a whore, but I can't believe that Lionheart wouldn't use his pull to lure my stupid little bro into his bed. I've noticed the way his eye wandered over me at public functions before, and if he couldn't get to me, someone much more vulnerable with much less sense would've been the perfect target for the Mayor's sticky paws.

“If Danny dies... or if he doesn't come out of this wholly intact, I will do _everything_ in my power to fucking _ruin_ you,” I growl, “I will fucking go to the press and destroy your _worthless_ reputation.”

He stares back at me for a moment, and now it's as if the whole demeanor of a horny, corrupt cat has slipped from Lionheart and he's all of a sudden got the full weight of his office behind him.

“I wouldn't overestimate my position if I were you...” Lionheart says in a cold voice. His tone has become as sharp as the dagger that'd just been driven into Danny's gut. “You're under a lot of pressure, so I'm willing to overlook this assault on me. But if you think you have any leverage you're mistaken. The mammals of Zootopia expect a few dalliances from a career politician. Even homosexual ones. But _incest_ on the other paw... _that_ is quite _certain_ to ruin a star officer's career.”

It feels as if my heart's leaped into my throat. With each swallow it's like I'm choking on my own pulse. I can taste the blood at the back of my tongue, and my vision's starting to go red. I don't know what I'm about to do, all I know is that it's gonna be dangerous and earn me a few years in Highwatch, minimum. Yet a pair of big arms wrap around me from behind, and I feel Luke's familiar warmth against my back.

“Benjy! Benjy, please stop!” he pleads. “It wasn't him, man! It's _Danny_! Danny's in love with you! He's been in love with you his whole life!”

Only a stoner could've said something like that and hoped it made sense, but if his goal was to stun me into submission it works. My grip on the Mayor loosens, and Lionheart moves my paws aside.

“What?”

“Y-yeah...” Luke sighs in relief as I begin to slump into him. “It's why he acts out, man. Part of him _knows_ he can't have you. So sometimes, when you aren't available, he'll... y'know. He'll look for the closest thing to you.”

I look Lionheart up and down, this flaccid excuse for a feline. He's still shaken, and even though we're both about the same height I could probably scruff him like a kitten and drown him in a river if I really wanted to. No way in hell could Danny see me in him.

“No... no this doesn't make sense...” I mutter. Danny's just a bit of a whore. He's been that way since we were kittens. He's always had this penchant for being nude around the house, even when we were living with Gramma. Once he came of age he'd lift his tail for just about every decent-looking stranger he met. He'd slip into my bed almost every night if I didn't lock my door. In the mornings he'd wake me up with kisses, both on the muzzle and the long, deep ones down there that'd leave me moaning helplessly until I finished.

But in a way, it makes _perfect_ sense. And it should've been obvious in retrospect. But it's still a shock to hear it said aloud.

When I turn around to face Luke... that's when I notice Nick and Judy standing beside him. God they're so _small_ I'd barely noticed 'em. Judy's flushed pink to the tips of her ears at what she's hearing. Nick though, he's just got that wide-eyed expression somewhere between confusion and concern.

My face feels so hot. My cheeks must be burning with shame that they'd just overheard.

“Benjy...” Luke continues, he's cupping my face, doing that Zen thing with his voice where it sounds like liquid butter. “Benjy... do you remember when you two were twelve? Your grandma, she... she was wanted to know what was going on between you two. So she invited over an old Tigrian fortuneteller. Danny said she was old and walked with a cane, wore a bunch of prayer beads and she smelled like myrrh...”

“What...” I begin, but I'm too embarrassed and scared and angry to recall. _Did_ something like that happen? I mean, it could've; Gramma was very traditional, and she'd known plenty of clerics and mystics and fortunetellers in her time.

“The fortuneteller... she said that the two of you were lovers in a past life. A tiger and a tigress...”

Judy lets out a tiny gasp. “That's why... when Danny talked to me the other night. He'd asked me what it was like to be a female...”

My mind's racing. Why is he saying this shit? Did Danny actually _believe_ any of this crap? The both of us stopped going to Temple the moment we'd gotten old enough to make our own decisions. Ever since we fled the crisis in Tigria I hadn't put much stock in any sort of spirituality or superstition, and all this time I'd thought Danny didn't either.

“You'd worked along the Baagh river on a fishing boat. Danny was a merchant's daughter. That fortuneteller said that's why you were born as twins, Benjy. You'd promised each other you'd be together in the next life...”

“Wait...” Nick says in a low, cautious voice, “Luke, you're dating Danny even though you know all this?”

Luke shrugs, “We don't always get to choose who we fall for. Besides, Danny's got a big heart. There's more than enough room for another tiger.”

“Shut up,” I say in a low growl.

“Benjy... it's all in the open now, see?” Luke says with a nervous smile. “You two were meant to be together. Danny's known it his whole life. He's just been trying to get you to remember too...”

“ _Shut up_.” I've never been so humiliated. Nick and Judy must be so disgusted. And the fact that Lionheart... fucking _LIONHEART_ doesn't react, like he knew more than I did about this... my guts are writhing at the thought, and I need to swallow hard to keep from puking right here.

“Officer Kaplan,” Lionheart interjects. “Please try not to worry. I'll help cover all the medical bills, so perhaps you should just...”

It's obvious he's trying to throw a rug over the awkward conversation here, but for some reason that pisses me off even more.

“I SAID SHUT UP!” I snarl, and the side of my fist slams into the plexiglass side of the bus stop. The acrylic must be half an inch thick, but it shatters in a spiderweb pattern of cracks. Lionheart's jaw drops and he puts his paws up, backing away from me. Even Luke seems dumbfounded. Judy... fuck. Sweet lil' Judy lets out a terrified squeak and hides behind Luke's leg. Nick slinks away from me too, wide-eyed.

“There's nothing going on between me and Danny,” I pant, suddenly feeling very vulnerable with all those sets of eyes on me. “There's never gonna _be_ anything that goes on between me and Danny.”

Clutching my bruised paw, I return to the hospital and try not to think about what those four will be whispering about me behind my back.

 

~~~~~

 

I sit in the ER waiting room, pawing through the stack of golf magazines. Who the hell put these here anyway? I mean, who reads golf magazines, especially when they've got a family member going through surgery?

My insides feel like they're in a tangle right now. I'm all alone in here, which is what I thought I'd wanted. I'd needed to get away from everyone and their accusing stares, the crap that they had no right to be involved in, even though they'd just fallen into this whole shitstorm by happenstance.

Besides, it's not like they're entirely innocent. Luke had been hiding all of that reincarnation craziness from me. Judy probably wouldn't be able to keep this a secret from the rest of the precinct... bunnies are notorious gossips. And Nick... sharing the occasional beer with him is all right, but it's not like we're close or anything. He's a great guy, and reliable, but I don't think I could ever completely trust a fox. Especially not with all those shady connections he has.

Honestly, thinking about it now, I don't think I've ever gotten close to anyone.

It wasn't fair though, exploding at them like that. Luke's my brother's boyfriend. He shouldn't be so scared of me that he'd feel uncomfortable being here. And Judy... even if she spills my filthy secrets it's not because she's malicious or anything. Bunnies just trust other mammals so easily that they don't quite understand the importance of privacy. And Nick...

Nick's walking through the door, holding a tiger-sized coffee cup in both paws.

I blink and accept the cup as he holds it out.

“Turns out they do make masala chai at the cafeteria here,” Nick says, taking the seat next to me. “Hope you like almond milk.”

It smells kinda flat though, nothing like how Danny would make it. It was probably made with an automatic brewer using one of those single-serving cups. The spices hadn't been toasted, and the mix is kinda short on cardamom. But it's still warm in my paws, which I really need right now. I definitely appreciate the sentiment.

“What're you doing here?” I sigh.

“Well, out of me and Judy and Luke, I'm the one who's got the biggest death wish. Usually I save that for Mondays.”

“I'm really not in the mood for your jokes, Wilde.”

“Heh, yeah...” he gives an awkward shrug. “Sorry, old habit I suppose. Look, I'm not gonna ask if you're okay, because I know you're not. But... I just wanted you to know that you're not alone in this.”

“I know,” I grumble.

Nick sighs. “Look, I realize I'm probably not in a great position to say this but... you really gotta open up, Benjy. I know what it's like to wanna put on a good face, act like all the crap in your life slides off of you. I know what it's like to be so scared of opening up because you think that if you ever trust anyone, if you're ever vulnerable, you'll get hurt worse than you ever could be hurt if you were alone.”

“Yeah, lemme guess,” I say, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of my masala chai. It barely deserves the name... stuff tastes like black tea with a hint of cinnamon, at best. “You opened up to Judy and learned how fucking precious it was to have someone in your life for once.”

Not all mammals can work that way. There's a reason I'd never sought out another partner until the three of us had gotten mashed together for this task force.

“Not exactly. It's more like... I opened up to Judy, and she ended up hurting me way worse than I ever thought possible.”

I blink and look down at him.

“Yeah,” he says, paws folded in his lap and eyes staring at a spot on the carpet. “When I was helping her out with the Night Howler case, y'know, before I joined the academy even... we got pretty close. I'd told her some of my worst fears, how I'd been abused as a kid. It... god it felt like such a relief, that someone else knew. That she understood and didn't look down on me for it. And the moment I thought I'd found someone like that she just kinda lost her nerve at that press conference. You know the one.”

“Yeah... yeah I know the one.” I say, sitting back now. That was a nightmare of a few weeks, living through all that harassment as a pred.

“But y'know, the two of us took some time apart from each other, and once we reconnected and worked things out... we solved the case. And got to be partners. And well... more than that, really.”

“I can tell,” I sigh. Even with the Musk Mask I can still smell the sex on him, though it's just a faint whiff.

“Look, people you care about are gonna fuck up. And at some point, you're gonna fuck up with 'em too. But I'm starting to realize the thing about relationships is that it isn't a scoreboard where you gotta play defense to keep from losing. It's this... process, y'know? This long, messy process where you work together, and try to solve the fuckups that inevitably happen. Together.”

For a while I just continue staring at the floor, digesting what he's just said. Nick's right. Ever since I was a kitten I'd been taking charge, trying to look as tough and collected as I could, because that's the only way I knew how to protect my little brother. The fact that it _worked_ back then had just made me even more inflexible about protecting my pride over the years.

But how well has it actually been working? I'd been too scared of denting my armor to put myself out there. All those missed chances at relationships, the snarling over what turns out to be trivial shit, the nights I'd binge-drink and black out on my own because that's the only way I knew how to have time to myself...

And here's Nick, this guy who'd lived every stereotype of the shifty, untrustworthy fox, now in a great relationship with a bunny. He's opened up, made friends, even going to therapy with Dr. Conall to smooth out his edges.

Turns out being hard and being strong are two different things.

I sigh. “I'm sorry. If Luke and Judy are outside, please tell 'em they can come in whenever they want.”

Nick smiles. “Great. And uh, Benjy? I'm sorry me and Judy... y'know. Were there to hear all that stuff. It really is none of our business.”

“Well, to be fair... it's kinda true.”

Nick shrugs. “Yeah, I know. Nothing wrong with it, though. I mean, I hear it's pretty common among twins.”

I sit up, surprised. “Wait you're... seriously cool with it?”

Nick chuckles, “I was cool with you guys parading around my doppelganger in front of me, even when it was really obvious that the three of you were gangbanging him. Why wouldn't I be cool with you two?”

“Look, I never... I don't _want_ to be in a relationship with Danny. I don't even _think_ about him like that,” I insist. “All this... this reincarnation stuff. It's all on _him_ , okay? I just want a normal life, settle down with a tigress, pump out a few kittens someday...”

Nick shrugs. “That's something you'll have to work out with him then. Just... talk, okay? It's scary as hell sitting down and being serious, and it sure as hell doesn't come naturally to foxes. But... it just takes practice.”

Just then Agent Packard and Dr. Vadzaya enter. Packard almost looks like one of the hospital staff members in his white labcoat, if it weren't for the t-shirt he's wearing under it that reads “ _SEX HOUND._ ” His nose twitches slightly, and he gives Nick a funny look as the fox hops off the chair and slips out to leave me with the other two. Shaking his head, Packard turns to me then.

“Officer Kaplan, we've got an update on your brother's condition.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“This is totally unacceptable! I demand to speak with Director Seraphine!” Lionheart growls, pacing back and forth. The moment he tried to scurry away from the hospital I'd called Elkredge to pick him up. Given that his mansion is now a crime scene he'd thought that he was being escorted to a hotel. Yet to his displeasure Elkredge had brought him straight to the ZPD for another round of questions. His report at the hospital had been less than satisfactory.

“I assure you, Director Seraphine has been notified,” I say calmly, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Please, Mayor. Sit down.”

“I know your game, Savage,” he snarls. Though he has a perfectly amicable public face, I've seen his angry side before. It's quite ferocious, and utterly unimpressive. He nudges the frame of the chair in front of him, and it wobbles and creaks at his touch. “Rickety seat, uneven legs, loose screws. You're trying to put me on edge, thinking I'll slip up and confess something. Like... like I'm some sort of common criminal!”

 _Or an uncommon one_ , I think to myself.

“Please, Director Seraphine will be calling any moment. For now, let's just talk.”

“About _what_ exactly?! Why am I being held here? Is this a coup? Does the ZIA just plan to swoop in and overthrow the legitimate government of Zootopia?”

“You just survived an assassination attempt. I thought you'd welcome some ZIA protection.”

“Cut the bullshit, Agent Savage,” Lionheart stabs a clawed finger in my face. “This isn't a protection detail, this is an interrogation!”

“If you would just answer our questions-”

“I'VE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING I KNOW!” he roars. I can almost hear Miles grunting on the other side of that two-way mirror, watching our whole interaction with one hoof on his tranq gun and the other holding a smoke. Lionheart isn't stupid enough to try attacking me, but it's good to have someone on my side in the event that this goes south.

“Let's try this again. You said that after you and Danny Kaplan had intercourse, you were returning from the shower when you noticed him gazing at someone behind you. It was then that he knocked you aside and he was stabbed.”

“Yes,” he says impatiently.

“At that point you fended off the intruder, called 911, and administered emergency care to him as he lay on the floor.”

“I saved his LIFE,” Lionheart growls. “I would think you'd respect that.”

“I do. It's just the manner in which you did so that intrigues me.”

“I am exhausted, stressed, and I still haven't completely washed the blood from my paws. I swear to GOD, Agent Savage... if you persist in keeping me here I will see that you're fired and charged with impeding a government official!”

I sigh. Does he really have to persist in this facade?

“Mayor Lionheart... you called 911 to alert them of the attack, but right after you told them what happened and where to send an ambulance, you hung up.”

“I had to stabilize Danny. I applied pressure to his wound, helped him breathe...”

“Yet you have no medical training. Not outside some basic CPR from... what was it? Twenty years ago?”

“It comes back quick,” he grunts.

“And yet somehow you recognized tetrodotoxin poisoning and knew that you needed to administer supplementary respiration. Without speaking to _anyone_ with real medical knowledge you knew to keep him oxygenated long enough for the ambulance to arrive and the ZMS to take over. Which means _somehow_ you recognized Mr. Smythe and knew what his methods were.”

Lionheart's jaw drops then, and his eyes widen in horror. You'd think that a career politician like Leodore Lionheart would be better at lying. He'd tried so hard to slip under my radar, but in the end he'd given himself away with something so absurdly simple.

“Mayor Lionheart, may I see your penis?”

That snaps him out of his shock, and he's banking on pure indignation to cover his ass now.

“You... you twisted little long-eared...”

“I realize it's an unusual request,” I say with a smile, “but given your pattern of nighttime activities I doubt modesty is your strong suit.”

“I am _not_ a preyophile!” Lionheart sneers.

“And I'm not gay,” I shrug, “but perhaps you've heard of the Leonis Pride. One of the major business consortiums of the twentieth century until they were acquired and re-branded under a new parent company. Not very well-known these days, but about thirty years ago they were one of the more powerful groups in Zootopia. Apparently there were rumors about the Leonis family, how unlike most cats the males of their lineage all had barbed penises.”

All the fury drains from his eyes the moment I mention the Leonis. His muzzle had been wrinkled in a snarl of fury just moments ago, but now his features sag as if he'd aged twenty years in that instant. Those eyes that'd been so direct and fierce shrink back, and flick away from my gaze.

“It's... it's a common medical condition...” he murmurs.

“If three percent of the large feline population is 'common' to you I'd _love_ to hear your stance on income equality,” I snort. “They were one of the most powerful First Families twenty years ago, and according to rumor, behind closed doors the patriarchs of the Leonis Pride often bragged about the pain they could inflict on their partners thanks to their unique physiology. So Mayor Lionheart, will I have to subpoena you for this, and have my request enter he public record? Or will you willingly submit to a medical examination and offer a DNA sample, and we'll see if we can keep this nice and quiet?”

“I- I want a lawyer...”

“Why?” I ask, keeping my face as placid as winter pond. “Did you do something that warrants investigation?”

“I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING!” he yowls. He sounds like he's close to tears. I must say, there's something sublimely satisfying about breaking a mammal with the right use of calm persuasion. “Do you really think I'm _stupid_ enough to agree to ZIA operations in the city if I were a member of the Leonis family?!”

“All you have to do now is submit to a medical exam and a DNA swab,” I smile. “Easy.”

“FINE!” he growls. “Fine! My father was Hayder Leonis! But if you really _must_ know I was just the bastard son of one of his mistresses! I had nothing to do with the Leonis family! I had nothing to do with Leonis operations! I am _NOT_ a Leonis!”

I sigh, leaning back into my chair. Finally. _Finally_ , a straight answer from this cat. “So in the Blood Wars, when your paternal kin and the rest of the First Families were slaughtering each other, you avoided the crossfire because your father never legitimized you.”

“He loved my mother. We inherited much of his fortune after he died and the rest of the Leonis line was exterminated,” he finally sits down now, though the chair creaks uncomfortably beneath his weight. He hangs his head, his mane looks ruffled and unkempt.

“So you don't know of any other members of the Leonis Pride who might still be living?”

“There are none,” Lionheart says, waving his paw in disgust. “What, do you think there might still be some members of the First Families alive, outside of the Frisks?”

“There's reason to be suspicious,” I say carefully. “I'm sure you know about the Great Infiltration of 1992. The Public Records Office had been ransacked. Birth certificates, identity records, everything Zootopia had on the public identities of many First Families was contaminated or destroyed before they could be transferred permanently to digital media.”

“Believe me, I've tried to look into it,” Lionheart says, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. “It might've kept the rest of the old aristocrats out of the public eye, but the members still knew each other for the most part. And Rufinius Frisk was exceptionally thorough in his little genocide. I was lucky to be spared.”

“Still, I doubt you could've fought off a Praetor. Especially if that Praetor was Mr. Smythe.”

“I convinced him I had nothing to do with the death of his family,” Lionheart says firmly. “And that's the truth. The Leonis Pride tortured him. Murdered his wife and his children. But I was just running for office as a City Counselor at the time... on my own, I might add. I was not involved whatsoever.”

“Still...” I say, turning the situation over in my head. Rufinius had always been a calculating tactician. He wasn't the type to make bold moves like setting a warehouse on fire or ordering an assassination attempt against the sitting Mayor. All to no apparent benefit for him, either. And the fact that Smythe had spared a life, even a more-or-less innocent one like Lionheart's... that was unusual.

Maybe my initial speculation was correct, that the filthy old bastard was dead and someone less competent was in charge. But had my life ever been that lucky? Did things ever go so easily for me?

“I must apologize,” I say, hopping out of my chair and crossing over to Lionheart's side. “Mayor Lionheart... I hope you can understand why I had to push you so hard. When it comes to the First Families, and the Frisks especially... you can never be too careful. Especially when it comes to knowing who to trust.”

“No one can know...” Lionheart murmurs through his paws, shivering. “Please. The election is only a few months away. I... this City can't survive another scandal of this caliber.”

I pat him gently on the arm. “Well, so long as you've been telling the truth- and yes I _do_ believe you- we'll keep this a secret, I promise. Now please relax, you need to take care of yourself tonight. I'll have Elkredge drive you to a hotel. I presume you won't object to a few bodyguards?”

“ZPD officers,” he says blankly, “I want ZPD officers.”

“Of course,” I give him a reassuring nod. He must've had his fill of ZIA Agents for now. No doubt Seraphine would have some sharp words for me in the morning, but she'll understand why I'd had to press so hard here.

As we leave the interrogation room however, Miles isn't alone. Lenny's waiting here for me too, and by how antsy he looks he has something important to tell me.

The moment Elkredge and Lionheart are out of sight, he blurts it out:

“Wilde and Hopps had sex.”

For a long, hard moment I stare at him. Then I glance at the clock on the opposite wall. It's two in the goddamn morning and this is the crap Lenny has on his mind? _Now_?

“Lenny...” I say in a low, dangerous voice. “I am fucking exhausted from having to handle tonight's debacle. So unless the next words out of your muzzle are about Wilde banging his girlfriend while licking tabs of Doug-grade Blue off of her chest while Rufinius Frisk is cackling in the background...”

“No, no, I'm serious! Look, they both used a couple sprays of Musk Mask to cover it up, but I could smell her arousal on both of 'em...”

Oh my GOD Lenny is _so_ fired after this.

“But I didn't smell any of _his_ pheromones on _her._ ”

I blink. “Wait... what does that...”

“Like okay, I smelled their juices and everything, but while I could smell Hopps, I caught _no fox sex pheromones_ when he walked past me. We've always suspected that the Vulpes Sanguinis uses some sort of scent mask for their assassins, right? Something that inhibits or neutralizes their natural secretions?”

“But for day-to-day activities, they couldn't just go around smelling like nothing...” I add, eyes widening as the realization comes to me.

“Right! They'd probably use some sort of synthetic fox scent. But that's just their general vulpine musk, right? So if their glands are in standby mode in general because of this scent mask they've got, when they have sex...”

“Then Wilde wouldn't be secreting any sex pheromones. So he's wearing a scent mask,” I cover my mouth with a paw, my eyes are darting back and forth as I mull it over. “No, it's more than that... he's a fucking _Praetor_.”

Solid evidence. We've finally got solid fucking evidence. Where the Mort Gangley gambit had failed, either because Rufinius was too smart to take the bait or Wilde was too dumb to notice, the foxes had well and truly fucked up here.

“Well, unless she just masturbated over the both of 'em or whatever and left him blueballing.”

“Lenny,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration, “Quit ruining your good ideas with bad ones.”

I'm gonna need to talk to Elkredge and plan out a full detail on Wilde's ass now. I don't know how, but he's gotta be in touch with the rest of the Sanguinis between his home and his work at ZPD headquarters. Maybe we'll even be able to track Wilde to the Twilight Cathedral. Destroy the Frisks once and for all.

Of course, I have a bit of a personal agenda to work out first. Somehow, before the Vulpes Sanguinis is taken down, I'm going to wring every ounce of information out of Nick Wilde before I kill him. Maybe I'll even take a page out of the recent Sanguinis playbook, use a nice length of chain and a jug of gasoline. And Jacob Frisk is gonna know who did it. If I play my cards right, Jacob might even get to watch as I light the match, just like he'd made me watch as I shivered in that log twenty years ago.

If the Frisk's Master-of-Arms is even capable of love, he'll finally know what it's like to lose someone he cares about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I've been super eager to post this chapter, it's definitely on of my favorites.
> 
> So yeah, we're finally beginning to uncover a lot of hidden things here. It was kinda obvious that Danny has had a thing for Benjy in the Kaplan Twins' story arc, and there's at least one of the First Families' kin still alive outside of the Frisks.
> 
> The uncovering of Nick's status as a Praetor in training here was fun to write too. I'm really beginning to love writing intrigue. There's that cat-and-mouse game of knowledge and meta-knowledge each side is trying to get about the other, where Jack Savage knows, but does Nick know that Jack knows? Because if so that'd drastically change the rules of the game.
> 
> But hey, at least for now Jack doesn't know that Nick knows that Jack knows, or at least how much. The summary sure is confusing, but I do hope the threads of intrigue are easier to process when you read the story proper. ;)
> 
> As usual please like and comment below, and do share this story (and its prequel) with your friends.


	21. Nick's Browser History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufinius cleans some fish, Nick gets a fancy new hat, and Jack desperately needs a nap.

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

My fingers close around the eel, right behind its narrow head. Its body slithers and writhes as I draw it from the bucket, a cord of pure muscle and taut connective tissue. Fools who do not know better think I am some pampered fop with velvet paws and a pristine jacket. Let them think so, and underestimate me to their detriment. The rare few who have seen me like this: paws and apron stained with blood, scooping a pile of sweetly bitter eel guts into a basin with the blade of a knife, know my true nature.

The door to the parlor swings open, and the Prodigal drags in a fat, sweaty red fox. His paws are bound behind his back, the gag stuffed into his muzzle has been fixed with a black cord. The white noise earbuds protrude from his head and the black mask is tight over his eyes.

I sniff in disdain. Marcus Asner is a true icon of all that is wrong with society these days. A tod pampered and self-spoiled on the conveniences of the modern era, with all the potential of his mind driven towards obsessive trivialities that grow ever more omnipresent with each year. There is not an ounce of true wit or cunning in him, no spine whatsoever. I momentarily consider ordering the Prodigal to simply slit his throat and be done with it, but my innate frugality outweighs my disgust.

After all, despite his uselessness in so many other regards he does have talents matched by few, if the rumors can be trusted. I am many things, but I am not wasteful.

“Unbind him,” I command, and the Prodigal removes the gag, unties Asner's wrists, pulls out the earbuds and finally lifts the mask.

Asner blinks, rubbing his eyes and whimpering as he kneels.

“Wh- where am I? Wh- whatever it is you guys think I did I didn't do it, all right?!”

His eyes bulge when he sees the eel wriggling in my grip.

“You are Marcus Asner. Freelance engineer. Hacker. Expert in anything to do with computers and electronics.”

“W-well... reverse-engineering and re-jigging software is more my forte but...”

In one smooth motion I casually slit the eel at the neck, partially severing its head. It writhes and thrashes, and I turn it over to wring its blood into a flask.

Marcus squeals in horror and presses his legs together. Disgusting.

“I suggest you stay calm, Mr. Asner,” the Prodigal says coldly. “You wouldn't want to soil yourself in front of the Prince.”

“P-Prince?”

“I have a job for you,” I say calmly, and I drive the awl through the eel's skull, pinning it to the board. Gripping it by the end of the tail I insert the knife into its belly, slashing along the length of its body. Even now it still twitches and squirms beneath my paw. Opening its body up like a book I reveal is glossy insides. Its viscera are pink as a summer rose, and dark red like wine.

Asner turns a noticeable shade of green.

“Prodigal. The PawPad, if you please.”

“Of course, my Prince,” he says with a bow. He'd held it tucked under his arm, but now he flicks through it to open up the source code.

“I have been led to believe that you enjoy a challenge, Mr. Asner. Tell me, have you ever considered tinkering with ZIA systems?”

With a flick of my knife I sever the eel's spinal cord. One sweep of the blade, and the spine lifts free from the fillet. Once I hack off the head I place the slab of meat alongside all the rest. The chef will deal with them from here.

“I- I've always fantasized about it. I mean, they're the ZIA, right? But it's such a long shot that- holy moly.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he sees what's on the PawPad. Scrolling through it his mouth is working, muttering code to himself as he reads.

“Is this- it's... really...?” he goggles in wonder.

“Do you think you can create a Trojan Horse for this system?” I ask calmly as I sweep the viscera into a basin. These will be pickled later until they form a pungent, slimy substance. _Shiokara_ , as they call it in Japan. An acquired taste to be sure, but for older mammals whose olfactory senses are beginning to fade it can be quite stimulating.

“I... I suppose. But this is so sudden! I mean, I don't even know who you people are, or-”

“You will not be paid for asking questions. Two hundred thousand in cash. That is my only offer. Though I will allow you the option to say no.”

I've already gripped another fresh eel, and I open its neck just as quickly. A spurt of thick, black blood crawls down its pale belly.

“Wh-when do you need this done?” Asner says with a mild squeak.

“Two weeks,” I say as I begin to gut and fillet this eel as well. “No later.”

“All right then, I'll just need to get back to my place and...”

“Your equipment will be brought to you,” I say coolly.

“But-”

“I do not care about your wall scrolls or pornography collection or gaming paraphernalia. You will focus the entirety of your being on this task I've set. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes!” Asner squeaks.

“Good. Milo. Oliver. Show this tod to his cell,” I command. The two panthers peel themselves from the wall and drag the terrified fox out of the room.

For a long time the Prodigal stares at me as I continue my work. It Is good to feel fresh blood on my paws again. Though my strength is failing me with each passing year and the aches in my joints grow sharper, I do enjoy putting myself through some physical labor on occasion. Especially with a task as thoroughly satisfying as cleaning fish.

“That was... unusually brusque, my Prince,” he says carefully.

“Was it?” I ask, as I pull the spine from the eel.

He is correct, of course. Courtesy costs us so little, yet it can buy so much. It isn't often that I lose my patience for it, even on a toad like Marcus Asner.

“If... if this is about the attempt on Lionheart's life...” he begins, “I can prepare a plan to reach him. Give me two days my Prince, and I will deliver the Mayor's head on a platter...”

“You think I am upset,” I say with an unshakable calm. “Quite the contrary. You should know better by now, Jacob. Lionheart's death was never my true goal.”

His eyes widen, and he looks away as if mulling over the situation. He comes to the realization quickly enough.

We are at a marked disadvantage here in the City. The ZIA's eyes are everywhere, and their operatives outnumber my Praetors five to one. Though much less competent, the ZPD present yet another danger. The City is protected by a mesh of their protocols and procedures, their Agents and Officers.

A machine that runs so smoothly, with so many moving parts, is a formidable thing indeed. But I am an architect of chaos... throw a wrench into the gears, and it ultimately breaks down, or at least stutters long enough for my plans to blossom.

How many Agents have been redirected to protect the Mayor? How many are now investigating his background, straining the trust between Seraphine and Lionheart? I've had a number of more subtle threats made against the members of the City Council as well... how many more resources will be redirected to protecting them, now that the ZIA believes I mean to conquer this worthless City?

“Things are falling into place,” I murmur. “We grow ever closer to Doug Schaffer, while the ZIA continues to lag behind. If I have been short with Asner, it is because other, greater things are coming to fruition. I will have Sebastian smooth things over with the tod. That is what he is here for, after all.”

“You... called me by my name,” Jacob murmurs, his eyes wide with wonder. “For the first time in twenty years.”

“My plans proceed smoothly, and our family line shall continue,” I say with a rare smile, though I still focus on my work. I slice though the neck of yet another eel, drain its blood, and with the same smooth efficiency as I've possessed in doing this for the past fifty years, I draw the knife down its squirming belly and expose its guts.

“With things going so well...” I say as I scoop out the entrails, “I am in a forgiving mood today.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

I really have to thank Finnick. He really came through for me.

When I'd passed him the note after that nighttime picnic with Judy I knew he'd keep his trap shut. Aside from the funny look he'd given me for a split-second at the unusually thick wad of cash I'd passed him there'd been no real tells. Judy might've suspected something, but she might've just as easily passed it off as another weird fox habit. Though I gotta say, if she did notice and was graceful enough to not bring it up I'd _really_ feel guilty over how much she was trusting me.

As the note had mentioned he hadn't contacted me afterward. He hadn't asked any questions. Which of course meant that I had no clue whether he followed my instructions until now. But there it is, right where I'd asked him to leave 'em: two fox-sized motorcycle helmets, lined with a triple-layer of aluminum foil on the outside.

Yeah, I know the old cliché of tinfoil hats meaning you're crazy, but believe it or not this shit works. I'd tried it a long time ago at the suggestion of a honey badger pal of mine, and wrapped my cell phone in a single layer of it. Completely blocked all reception. Now granted she was worried about mind control rays instead of two-way radio bugs that'd been implanted deep in my ear canals, so I hope the same principle works.

With a nervous sigh, I slip the helmet on.

For few seconds I just stand here in the middle of the tunnel, three city blocks from the sewer grate right next to my apartment. The tunnel and the flowing water overhead might be enough to block reception already, but I wasn't about to take any chances.

“Check, check. Mic check,” I say quietly. No response.

“Mic check,” I say a little more firmly now. “Hey Twilight Cathedral, can you read me?”

Silence on the other end. Oh god I hope that's a good thing.

Just then I hear the shuffle of footsteps from an adjacent tunnel. Pressing myself flat against the bricks and trying my best to hide beside a pipe I peek over to the side to see...

Dad.

He's wearing a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers, along with a black tie. His paws are folded behind his back, and he has such a dignified, stately posture. It's the look of a mammal who's made a habit of putting on the best face possible for the rest of the world, all too aware that he'd be judged by his species.

I breathe a sigh of relief and point at the other foil-lined helmet. Picking pockets had been one of the first skills I learned when I got into hustling. It was a simple matter for me to slip the note into his pocket earlier this evening, once we finished our training and he was giving me a hug and a pat on the back for improving.

Dad glances at me and the foil-lined helmet I'm wearing, then he looks to the one that rests on the ground. Then back at me again. To his credit he doesn't laugh, though the corners of his mouth twitch into an amused half-smile. He humors me though, and picks up the helmet and puts it on.

“Very clever,” he says with a nod. “If the monitors notice that the reception from your earpieces cut out, they'll likely chalk it up to the tunnel.”

“Hope you have as good a cover story for yourself,” I sigh in relief. Part of me... a small part, really, feels kinda giddy over the fact that this worked and Dad confirmed it. Now that no one's reading or recording my conversations with Dad, I can speak freely. “We _are_ safe though, right?”

“Your grandfather doesn't monitor me the way he does you,” he says, much more relaxed now that we can speak safely. “I have the autonomy to move on my own through the city, whenever I wish. And yes, Nick. We're safe. A week ago you'd have a Praetor tailing you topside,” Dad points up, indicating the street level, “Of course now that things are in motion our operatives are more useful elsewhere.”

“Great,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “Look Dad, whatever Rufinius is doing, we've gotta stop him. I'm trying to do everything I can to keep it together here but... but it's _sick_ , dad. I almost puked halfway through the auction.”

“I had to help your grandfather manage three others much like it this past week,” Dad sighs, muzzle wrinkling in distaste. I know I need his help for this, but deep down I'm fuming. How could he just stand by and watch as mammals are put on the auction block? How could he have done it these past twenty _years_? “And in two months there'll be another series of 'em. We're very successful in Japan.”

“And in between?” I say in a low growl.

“The more mid-quality bunnies are rented out. And those who've aged out of the role will return to the Farms and work in the catnip fields to their dying day.”

I think back to the bunnies I've come to know. Bonnie and Stu. Cory, Stacey, Dixie, Clover and Buster. All part of Judy's litter. What if one of them had been forced to wear one of those skimpy loincloths and go up on the auction block, while wealthy assholes bid on them like they were looking to buy a prize hen?

And then there were the younger ones: the little tykes who'd invited me to play rounds of soccer and Fur Fighter on their Preystation. I have to push the image aside then, I can't bear to think what Rufinius would do to bunnies at that age.

“This has to stop, Dad...” I insist. “It's wrong. It's _sick_! Even if you don't care about the rabbits-”

“Of course I care!” he protests.

“-it's getting to be even bigger than that! One of my friends was almost _killed_ last night!”

“I'm well aware of that, Nick.”

“Please, Dad. _Please_ help me stop this.”

“Going against Rufinius will be dangerous,” he sighs, “Hell, if he even finds out we're having this conversation someone is going to die. And remember, it won't be _your_ life you'll be risking.”

“I know, Dad... but if Judy knew what was happening she'd want me to do something.” That dumb bunny. Someone who'd mouthed off to Mr. Big to save a missing otter wouldn't think twice about putting her life on the line here. And if I just stood by and she ever found out... she'd kill me.

“Good. You'll need that determination if you want to survive this,” he nods as if this little mutiny was his plan all along. “I think it might be possible. Just remember we can't meet like this too often. And when we step out of this tunnel, these conversations never happened.”

I nod.

“So what's your plan?”

“Ha! You think I have a _plan_?” I say incredulously. “Most I've ever done is wing it based on what I know."

“Well, that's the Frisk in you.”

“I'm _not_ a Frisk, dad,” I say with a scowl. “I'm a Wilde. Now look, do you have any idea why Gramps put a hit out on Lionheart?”

“He didn't,” Dad says with a shrug. “The whole thing was staged to _look_ like a hit. In reality it was about putting the ZIA and ZPD into a panic, and to erode trust between the two factions. Are you aware that Lionheart is related to one of the First Families?”

My eyes widen. He'd mentioned that during one of our other nighttime meets, an orientation into the history of the Frisks and Zootopia's underground.

“Blood kin to the Leonis Pride.” Dad's muzzle twists into a snarl. “Absolute savages. They used to be charming and charismatic, some of the world's best orators and politicians stretching back to ancient Rome. But behind the scenes they were even worse than the Vulpes Sanguinis in many ways. I've got nothing against Lionheart personally, but after this the ZIA must've uncovered his lineage. Rufinius hoped it'd put some strain on him and Director Seraphine's relationship.”

“I think you might be underestimating how well we work together,” I say, crossing my arms. Yes, I realize the irony in me defending the task force.

“Regardless,” Dad says with a wave of his paw, “Several Praetors put themselves in view of some of the City Council members too. In fact, at least a dozen Sanguine Shadow roses have been sent out to them.”

“Sanguine Shadow?”

“Black roses,” Dad explains, “With blood-red fringes along the petals, one of the first varieties your grandfather bred. Rufinius has often had assassins leave them as a calling card to those he kills or plans to kill, or sent out as a reminder that those individuals are on dangerous ground with him.”

I nod. I remember the rosebushes he had growing in that one room.

So that was it then. These vague and not-so-vague threats on the City Council had forced the ZIA and the ZPD to expend a ton of resources into protecting them. There were rumors of the arguments officers had overheard from Chief Bogo's office, with Agent Stripes pushing back hard against the ZPD's shift in focus to put protective details on major government centers and officials. I'd lurked outside his office a bit myself, as Stripes began to shout that “HE” didn't think that way, that “HE” was just trying to distract us from something else. There was no ambiguity as to who Stripes meant.

“They're falling for it, aren't they?” Dad says, tilting his head. “Director Seraphine and Chief Bogo... they're operating under the assumption that Rufinius is dead. That someone younger is in charge. They think that these threats and the assassination attempt are just the undisciplined actions of a greenpaw trying to consolidate power.”

“Yeah...” I sigh. Cheese and crackers, did Rufinius seriously anticipate they'd come to that conclusion?

Dad lets out an annoyed huff. “Well I certainly hope they don't think I'm the one in charge. Undisciplined my ass...”

“So...” I begin, turning the facts over in my head. “If Rufinius means for all this to be a distraction, something big is going to happen, isn't it?”

“Yes, Nick. Unfortunately he keeps his plans close to himself...”

“I've already figured it out,” I interrupt, “And I've already done what I could to alert the ZIA.”

Dad's eyes narrow. “I certainly hope you know what you're doing.”

“HA! Honestly, at this point I'm just trying to come to terms with the fact that by the end of all this someone is going to skin me alive!” Though whether it'll be Rufinius Frisk or Jack Savage, who can say?

I'd meant it as a joke, bleak as it was, but Dad's eyes harden into steel. “That won't happen, Nick. I will _not_ allow it.”

He steps forward then, reaching up and cupping the front of my muzzle, the only part that pokes out from the motorcycle helmet. His paw is warm, and while it smells of fox it doesn't smell of _him_. He doesn't have the scent I remember from childhood... earthy and sweet, like honeysuckle. “Everything I've done these past twenty years, I've done to protect you and your mother. And I'll still protect you now.”

“Yeah, I know, Dad,” I say as I place a paw on his shoulder, “You implied as much in your letter.”

Dad nods in affirmation, but there's something in his eye... a glint that almost feels like I'd just said something unfamiliar. What does that mean, I wonder? Did he forget what he wrote in that letter?

Or was he just not the one who sent it in the first place?

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

My paw trembles as I reach for my mug of coffee. I've had so many pots of it these past two days that my heart's gotta be pumping pure Colombian Dark Roast by now. Skye had to remind me to eat earlier, but even after a zucchini pesto sandwich from the deli my mouth still tastes like pure smoke from all the java I'd been downing.

It wasn't just the panic over possible assassination attempts against the central government of Zootopia. It was also all the work we'd had to do to cover it up. It was hard enough trying to keep the attack on Lionheart on the DL, but the fact that Danny was one of the beloved backup dancers for Gazelle had been the knife that'd torn through the paper shield we'd tried to erect. Though ZNN knew _something_ was going on, we'd been able to keep most of the details hidden by hunting down everyone involved in the chain of emergency response and insisting they keep their damn muzzles shut. We've even had to pull some strings with the executives at ZNN and Hooves News.

Then of course I'd had to go to Bogo and Seraphine, demanding and pleading in turn for them to not move any of my resources to all the investigation and monitoring and protection details that had to be done. This wasn't Rufinius' style, I'd told them. This has got to be a bluff, a way to distract us from his real plans. But my arguments had fallen on deaf ears. Bogo had written me off as paranoid. Seraphine had insisted I needed to work on what we knew rather than what we suspected.

Even worse, just as I was returning to my office at the ZPD I saw that black wolf, Dr. Conall, sniffing after me like he was trying to get a fix on my mental state. He'd been lurking around the ZPD more than usual lately, and I'd seen him talking to Agents and Officers alike, each one a member of my task force.

And just when I'd thought things couldn't get any worse, I'd forgotten that I'd wanted Adrienne to provide a quick report on what she'd found monitoring Wilde's work station.

“His internet search history is just _filled_ with this crap,” she says, going down the list. “'Hot bunny twinks.' 'Buck-toothed bunny boys.' 'Lurid luscious lagomorphs.' 'Carrot stuffing.' 'Long-eared bondage.' 'Cornholing cottontails.' 'Julie Hopper in the Foxes' Den...'”

“I hear that one's getting popular.”

I shoot Lenny a hard glare, before I realize it's Miles who'd said it, still tapping that carton of cigarettes against the table. He gives a derisive snort when he notices my momentary confusion. I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to clear my head. Crap I think I only got twenty minutes of sleep last night...

“Adrienne, could you _please_ get to the point...”

“Oh no, Adie. _Do_ go on...” Skye says with her smarmy vulpine grin. After this she'll happily massage my stress away and cuddle me to sleep, but she'll never turn down an opportunity to mess with me, just a little.

“Well it goes on like this for a while,” Adrienne sniffs. “It's a major IT issue.”

The thought of leaping across the table and wringing the stoat's scrawny little neck flicks through my mind. We've gotten shortpawed because of the plague of black roses that'd been delivered. If not for that I would've assigned a first-year cadet to comb through the data instead of Adrienne. Someone who could actually _focus_ on what was relevant. One of the most dangerous terrorist organizations in Zootopia's history is planning something big, something that _isn't_ a wave of murders against government officials, and she thinks I'm worried about Nick Wilde's _fraternization_?

“Well, at least we know Wilde's an idiot,” Miles says, mouth twisting. I'm _this close_ to telling him to just pop a cig already if he's going to be twitchy about it. “The guy has a woeful disregard for possible electronic monitoring. Even if we hadn't bugged his computer the ZPD's IT department would've logged his workstation's browser history.”

“Well the second set of red flags is that he's been doing a lot of searches about gun stores,” Adrienne says. “Any idea what that means?”

“Gun stores?” I murmur. My heart skips a beat.

Lenny's brow wrinkles. “That's unusual. He should be able to requisition whatever firearms he needs from the ZPD.”

“No, no... that's not it...” I murmur. I'm trying to puzzle it out, but I'm just too damn exhausted to think...

“What exactly is it about these gun stores that he's been looking up?” Miles asks. He finally taps out a cigarette and tucks it behind his ear.

“Not the actual weapons,” she says. “Mostly looking at the list of recent background checks they ran for new firearm purchases...”

“Background checks...” I murmur.

It hits me then, like a flash of lighting out of a clear blue sky. It comes so quickly that it almost slips into the fog of exhaustion, but I grasp at the thought, dragging it back and refusing to let go.

“Adrienne, how many of those background checks are of sheep?” I sit up, ears perked and alert now.

Skye blinks. “Oh... OH!”

Lenny shakes his head, “Can someone please fill me in?”

Miles sits up at attention as well. He's realized it as quickly as I had. “Think about it from Doug's point of view. You're the big kingpin of the Blue market. You hear about the warehouse fire on the news and that one of your former partners and current competitors was just murdered. Burned alive. If you're Doug, you're gonna think you're in danger, and best guess is that it was your other partner Woolter who did it, to try to corner the market on Blue.”

“And Woolter's going to think the same thing,” Skye says, eyes widening. “He's going to think that Doug killed Jesse's crew, and that Doug's going to be coming after him next. Rufinius ordered Jesse killed to set off a gang war.”

“Precisely,” Miles nods. “The ZIA has the benefit of knowing that it's the Vulpes Sanguinis, but if you're Doug you don't know any of that. All you know is that a sheep is dead and you might be next.”

“So what do you do when you're in that situation?” I add, “You start arming yourself to the teeth. You buy as many weapons as you can. Doug's going to be preparing for an attack by Woolter, Woolter's going to be preparing for an attack by Doug.

“In the meantime, they're both playing straight into Rufinius' paws. First, by killing Jesse you've driven Doug and Woolter into hiding, making it harder for the ZIA to find them. Second, since Rufinius knows that Jesse and Woolter will be buying weapons, he knows precisely what trail of breadcrumbs the Vulpes Sanguinis should follow. And finally, since Nick Wilde has access to the ZPD's resources, you acquire him and get him to help find the sheep before we do.”

I shake my head, growling. “Not only that, but by planting that Sanguine Shadow Rufinius put us into a panic. He _knew_ the ZIA would switch gears and start trying to get into the brain of a Frisk rather than figuring out what the sheep will be doing. He didn't _need_ to drop that rose, but in doing so he was throwing up a smokescreen to distract us from the sheep.”

I'm so pissed at myself. All it'd taken was one warehouse fire and one goddamn flower to start this chain reaction. Rufinius had always believed that a truly clever fox didn't need to lie in order to deceive, and he'd done just that with this mindfuck. Hell, he'd done so again just now, with the assassination attempt against Lionheart and the backhanded threats against the City Council. With Seraphine and Bogo deciding to play defense, this task force's resources had been drained to a trickle.

Fuck. _FUCK_!

“I'll cross-check his searches of those gun stores for sheep right now!” Adrienne squeaks, pinning her eyes to her laptop and typing frantically.

“I doubt it'd do any good,” Miles grunts. “If I were a fugitive drug-dealing sheep I wouldn't be going to a legit gun dealership to arm myself for a gang war, _especially_ if they're going to run background checks through the ZPD. I'd be going to the black market. Wilde was probably just trying to cover his bases looking into legit sources.”

“And Wilde has a head start on us,” I fume. “He knows every criminal in the City. Every lowlife, every gangster. He even had ties with the mob before they fled Zootopia. He'll know where Doug and Woolter would be going to buy weapons on the black market.”

I hop out of my chair and grab my jacket. “I need to interrogate the mammals we've detained. Pull up a list of every jailhouse snitch the ZPD has, we have to-”

Just then Skye catches me by the shoulder.

“No, Jack. You're exhausted,” Skye says in that no-nonsense tone of hers. She pulls it out so rarely, that it really leaves an impression on you when she finally does. “If you keep pushing yourself you're going to drop dead of a coronary.”

“We'll handle this,” Miles adds. “You need to take care of yourself, Jack.”

I sigh. I really hate to admit it, but they're right. I'm barely able to pull two strings of thought together.

Skye pulls a bottle out of her pocket. “Here. Melatonin. Take two and curl up on your office couch for the night.”

“How long have you been carrying these?” I say, looking at the bottle.

“For as long as I've worked with you,” Skye smiles. “Here, I'll walk you to your office.”

There isn't anything amorous behind the sentiment. She's not going to drop and give me a blow to help me sleep better or anything. Skye just wants to make sure I get my rest instead of running off to Highwatch on my own.

Once we arrive at my office I plop onto the big couch without even flicking the light on. The thing was made for medium-sized mammals, mostly wolves, but that just means I can spread out more comfortably. I'd brought a little memory foam pillow with me too, knowing I might need to take the occasional nap at the precinct.

I down the pills with a shot of bourbon from the flask I'd left on the end table. The tingling burn crawls down my throat, and a faint giddy warmth blooms in my head. My brain is still buzzing from all the caffeine I'd downed throughout the day, but that shouldn't matter too much when the melatonin kicks in.

I sit up a little when I feel Skye's claws undoing my belt.

“Uh, you... really should get to talking with those prisoners...” I say with a yawn. Honestly, there's no way I'd be able to perform.

“Don't flatter yourself,” Skye chuckles. “I'm just making you more comfortable.”

And sure enough she just pulls the belt from the loops ringing the waistline of my pants, leaving me to settle in. I can't believe how much that alone has helped me loosen up around my middle.

“Sleep well, Jack,” Skye murmurs, planting a kiss on my forehead. As usual, the tip of her tongue flicks out and licks me there. I wearily scrub at the wet patch she leaves.

“Skye?” I say, yawning. It'll be a while before the pills actually have any effect, but two days of exhaustion are catching up on me finally.

“Yes, Jack?”

“I love you...” I murmur into my pillow.

Soon enough, I fall asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that the logic of the Frisk conspiracy is a bit hard to follow, so I'll try to summarize the tl;dr version here:
> 
> JACK: We need to catch these sheep  
> RUFINIUS: I'mma murder these sheep and leave my calling card
> 
> (warehouse fire)
> 
> SHEEPDOUG: OMG Woolter is trying to kill me! Imma buy guns!  
> SHEEPWOOLTER: OMG Doug is trying to kill me! Imma buy guns!  
> JACK: OMG It's true! Sanguinis are back! What's he thinking? What's he doing? Let's leave the ZPD to hunt down the sheep for now and try to think from the Frisk POV!  
> RUFINIUS: Imma think from the sheep POV, and since I started this gang war I know the sheep are buying guns. Imma track dem guns back to dem sheeps. Also... SMOKE BOMB.
> 
> (assassination attempt against Mayor, death threats against City Council)
> 
> ZIA/JACK: OMG new revelations! Treason from within! Is this a coup? What's Rufinius doing?! I'm too busy to even think of what the sheep are doing!  
> NICK: Pssssst gun sales.  
> JACK: OMG We fell for this distraction! We should've been trying to think from the sheep POV all along but we were too busy trying to get into Rufinius' head!  
> RUFINIUS: Too late I got a head start hunting down these sheeps.
> 
> There. That's the tangled web of intrigue we've got right now. If I could do it through hand puppets I would.


	22. The Nocturnal District

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick has a nice dream, Skye chats with an old friend.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

_“Getting fancy, are we?”_

_I grin at my reflection, preening as I adjust the intricate folds of my tie. It's probably a bit much with the blue-and-red Double Bird of Paradise pocket square, but Dad always said a fox needed to make a good impression._

_Maybe I should just choose between one or the other. I might just be peacocking a little too obviously with all these fancy folds._

_“Might be a bit much, yeah...” I admit._

_“Maybe lose the pocket square. It's not like you can see it beneath the robes anyway.”_

_“Mmm good point.” The Eldredge Knot would be more than enough. Too bad the graduation ceremony is tomorrow. I'd done the tie so perfectly that it seems a shame to undo it now. Still, a couple hours of practice had done me well, hopefully it'll look just as good tomorrow._

_I don't think I've ever been so happy in my life. I mean, summer vacation's going to be anything but... I'll have to work the whole time at Morton's Diner. Ruby had agreed to get an apartment with me though, and she'll be working to support the both of us while I study. It'll be a shoebox of a place, but I know we can make it work._

_Not many foxes get accepted into Cervinia Business School, but with my grades and my SAT scores I'd been able to pull though. Foxes are astoundingly clever when we put our minds to it after all. I just had to keep my nose clean, hunker down, and focus on my classes these past four years._

_Frankly though, I hadn't believed it when I got the acceptance letter. Mom even got it framed and it's hanging in our living room wall right now. An acceptance letter, of all things._

_I just hope I can make her and Dad proud._

_“Well, I didn't want to make a fuss about this too much, but I just deposited five thousand bucks in your student bank account.”_

_My eyes pop open, and I turn to look at Dad. “Wh... where'd you get_ _**that** _ _?”_

_“It's graduation season. Between this and prom I'd been selling a lot of suits,” he winks. “Now I don't want you spending it on a new TV or anything. You'll be surprised how expensive textbooks can be.”_

_“I know, Dad,” I roll my eyes._

_“Good,” he wraps one arm around me in a half-hug, and the two of us admire our reflections in the mirror. Me in my graduation cap, my nicely-pressed shirt, and my burgundy tie in an Eldredge knot. Dad wearing his yellow Paisley vest and the tape measure over his shoulders. We're both grinning._

_Even though the last four years seemed to have passed in an eyeblink, somehow the next four feel like they'll be stretching into a new, wonderful future._

_“You did good, Jellybean.”_

 

~~~~~

 

I blink the sleep from my eyes as I wake, my muzzle planted right between a long pair of ears. For a moment I'm still happy and excited for my high school graduation, until I recognize the creamy scent of bunny in my nostrils, the feeling of the strange bed beneath me, the tight walls of the tiny apartment.

And then I wake up fully. The dream crumbles.

“No...” I whisper. “Oh no, please...”

The cruelest dreams are the happiest ones, aren't they? The ones that show you what could've been, where all your needs and wants are fulfilled and your greatest potentials are realized. And then you wake up to a world that's cold and gray and all too real, and as the last vestiges of the fantasy slip away you feel like you've lost something even though you've never had it before.

It's just not fair.

I wrap my arms around Judy. For once her presence isn't as comforting as it should be. I could be happy with this. I _should_ be happy with just this. But I can feel the camera watching me, almost hear the foxes listening in.

I withdraw my arms from Judy nice and slow, and scooting to sit on the edge of the mattress I bury my face in my paws. Have the antidepressants stopped working? Do I need to get Doc Conall to up the dosage again? Or are the other pills I'm taking messing with my brain chemistry somehow?

Maybe there's a simpler explanation. Maybe I've just gone crazy.

“ _Mr. Frisk?_ ” a vixen whispers through the earpiece. “ _Mr. Frisk, are you awake?_ ”

I suppress a groan.

“No. Not tonight,” I whisper. The bedsprings squeak as I get up and lope to the bathroom.

“ _I'm afraid the Prince has requested your presence_ ,” the vixen whispers again.

I stare into my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I don't look nearly as tired as I feel. I don't look angry or sad or upset. There's just this dull, neutral reflection on my face. It's the face of a mannequin, of a fox that's gone completely numb.

“Not tonight. Please,” I sigh. “It's supposed to be my night off. I'm spending it with Judy.”

“ _Your presence is required tonight, Mr. Frisk. I'm sorry. Sebastian reports that another one of the Blue manufacturers has finally been discovered._ ”

I close my eyes, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. I'd done everything I could to slow things down on the Sanguinis' end of things. I'd even planted hints for the ZIA to find so they could catch up, knowing they were monitoring my activities. Problem was the Sanguinis had a long head start tracking the movement of weapons on the black and gray markets, even with me trying to subtly guide them in the wrong directions. Now they've found their sheep, and tracked them back to their bosses.

“All right...” I say hesitantly. “All right I'll be there. Just someone message Chester and get him to rendezvous with me...”

“Nick?” Judy says at the bathroom door. “Are you talking to yourself?”

Turning around suddenly I look at her. My Pawaiian shirt is comically baggy around her figure, and it looks like she's wearing a huge bathrobe without a belt. Despite my bleak mood tonight I crack a smile at that, but her big violet eyes stare up at me with concern.

“A little,” I murmur. “Sorry, Carrots, but I should get going. I don't think I'll be good company tonight.”

“It's two in the morning,” she says, rubbing one eye with a little gray paw. “Just come back to bed.”

“I can't. I had a really bad nightmare.”

She blinks. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Thanks, Carrots, but I'll be fine,” I lie, “I just really need to go for a walk. Clear my head a little.”

For a while she stares at me. It's strange, that a bunny's gaze can unnerve me at all. But sure enough sleepy as she is she's wearing that determined look that says she wants to get involved, that she wants to work through this together with me. We're partners after all. And we're lovers. I'm supposed to play ball with her, aren't I?

But ever since Danny was attacked things had changed. Benjy's anger, which he'd apparently kept under a tight leash all this time, was on full display with the dark scowl he seemed to wear all day now. He's been spending most of his time at the hospital at Danny's bedside, though by now it's just him recovering from the stabbing.

Judy finally realized how serious this is. That bouncy, naively sweet small-town girl had sobered up to the real ugliness she could see in this job. She might've been more prepared than I was for the legwork of this career with all her book smarts and athletics, but I'd long known how cruel the City could be.

As for me...

I give a nod to the shirt she's wearing. “Not to be lewd or anything, but I'm gonna need that back.”

For a moment she stares up at me. Judy isn't stupid. She knows something's wrong. She's trying her best to trust me, to give me some space because she knows she can't solve my problems. All she can do is be there to support me when I need it. Which makes me hate it so much more that I have to lie to her like this.

“All right,” she sighs, shuffling out of the shirt. “Though if you can't talk to me, can you at least promise to talk to Dr. Conall about this by the end of the week?”

“Of course,” I smile. I've been trying my best to avoid the wolf, though. At least until I can ask Dad about whether those scent mask pills hide whatever he smells on me when he sniffs out my emotions.

“And hey, how about after this...” Judy tries to put on an earnest smile, but I can read the worry plain on her face, “After this... let's go back to Bunnyburrow. If you can stand being around a bunch of rabbits for another few weeks.”

“After all we've been through these past couple months,” I chuckle, “that sounds like a great vacation idea.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“All right, everyone! This is precisely what we've been training for!”

I've called up every on-duty task force officer I reasonably could. We've got fifteen ZPD on the nocturnal shift, ten ZIA Agents, and a full thirty Razorbacks, Zootopia's elite SWAT team. Should be more than enough to take down the gang. If it weren't for the Razorbacks I'd be massively short-pawed, but I'm putting everyone on this that I can. Even Lenny's getting into the field. Officers and Agents are armoring up and checking their tranq guns. The Razorbacks are pulling up in their armored trucks.

“Careful!” Adrienne squeaks as she scurries alongside the lion carrying the cases for her surveillance drones. “I said _careful_! That's delicate equipment there! I designed these _myself_!”

We'd linked a black market weapons dealer to a couple sheep just yesterday. Frankly, it was a small miracle we'd uncovered this so quickly. Wilde might know all the scumbags in the city, but with Skye's background in crime she knows how to sniff out illegal activity almost as well. When we learned that one ram bought several firearms before subsequently vanishing from the grid just two days ago, I knew it was the Smiler's work.

We'll find the body eventually, mutilated with surgical precision through Dusk's interrogation efforts. For now though we've got a raid to conduct. One of the ram's friends had a daily routine that'd been tracked on CCTV, and we'd followed him back to his boss' hideout. Adrienne's surveillance drones then confirmed that we've got Blue manufacturers on our paws.

“All right I won't be repeating myself so listen up!” Miles barks as he fills in the Razorbacks on the attack plan, tapping a hoof on the building schematics. “Standard three-prong approach. Teams Alpha and Bravo will begin the assault on the compound from the North and South ends respectively. Charlie stays in reserve one block away.”

Miles Elkredge might be yearning for his retirement, but when he's planning a raid the moose really shines.

I just wish Skye were here. She'd been gathering intel when I first made the call, and she's had to go dark on the comms for that.

Well, we all gotta do what we have to for the mission.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Skye** _

 

I'd missed the Nocturnal District.

Everyone up top thinks it must be dank and musty in here, with an ever-present hint of sulfur everywhere you go. But why the hell would mammals have built this district if they were gonna live in a place that smelled like rotten eggs all the time?

Fact is, this is probably one of the cleanest districts in Zootopia. Sure there aren't many trees or shrubs, but that also means there isn't any dirt. And the underground rivers that'd carved out most of the place had been filtered through layers of rock and soil for thousands of years before reaching these caverns. There's a clean mineral smell, and you can almost taste the limestone in the air.

The Nocturnal District is where you come if you want to experience a lovely spa night, or if you just want to relax away from the bustle of the Topside, as we used to call it here. Not that it's completely silent, of course. On the higher levels you can always hear the flap of wings from the bat population, but once you get used to it it's kind of soothing, like the rustle of leaves in a high wind.

Much of the Nocturnal District is built around the six Spires... the underground equivalent of skyscrapers. From the ledge I'm standing on I can see three others, like massive stalactites and stalagmites that've merged into a sort of hourglass shape, stretching from floor to ceiling a thousand feet high.

There's this sublime beauty here. The low ambient lighting is easy on my vulpine eyes, and the great skyways that link adjacent Spires stretch out over the Rockwell, the neighborhoods that spread out along the cave floor. Smaller buildings sprout from the ground floor like great mushrooms.

If only I had more time. The cavewater spas here are so relaxing.

“Yeah I've seen your sheep,” Bartholomew says, his bat-wings folded over his shoulders like a cloak. Most mammals aren't used to talking to bats. The way they dangle upside-down is unnerving, apparently. He points one talon across the way to the base of Spire Four. “I mean it's not unusual to see sheep here exactly, but there's definitely been talk among some of our more... _unsavory_ acquaintances that they've been looking for guns. Not that you heard it from me, of course.”

Of course it was Spire Four. The sewage treatment plant for the entire district is located at the base of it, where wastewater is filtered and pumped Topside along with the separate solid waste shipments for disposal. There's an old Nocturnal joke, about how shit floats to the top and that the local government should've set up shop there instead of Spire One. But no, what they got instead was a neighborhood full of cheap, run-down warehouses and workshops. Most mammals there tried to avoid each others' business. Made perfect sense for either Doug or Woolter to set up there.

“I was able to track 'em to a building on the corner of Aye-Aye Way. From what I hear it was abandoned and set to be demolished for a newer, nicer shithole. Locals say construction was supposed to start about four months ago.”

“And no one asked why it was put on hold?”

“Oh, please. Everyone was just glad they didn't have to put up with the noise,” Bartholomew says, flicking one of his ears for emphasis.

I gaze out at the neighborhood with my binoculars. Aye-Aye Way was supposed to be close to a Barn Burger joint, if I recall. Would've been nice to pull up a map on Zoogle to check, but one of the downsides of coming down to the Nocturnal district is that it's like traveling back into the 90s in terms of tech. The bat population here is particularly sensitive to electromagnetic signals, and they always vote in lockstep for Council Members and District Managers who would block the installment of cellphone towers and district WiFi. You can only get a reliable signal in certain parts of central Rockwell. The whole District is one of the few places in the world that's probably still largely dependent on landlines and telephone booths, which makes it even harder to monitor.

There. Right on the corner, just as Bartholomew said, I spot a sheep heading down the sidewalk with a large plastic bag in each hoof, each one stuffed with what look like Barn Burger takeout boxes. He's heading for one of the buildings.

“How many are inside?” I ask.

Bartholomew snorts. “You think I counted? Come on, Skye. All those grazers look alike to me.”

“Don't let them hear you say that.”

He swivels his head and looks out in the same direction. “Well, call up your boss and get this over with quick. Though do give me a warning so I can get away, all right? The last time some bratty fox kits set off some firecrackers two ledges below me I got a ringing in my ears that lasted for hours. I don't wanna know how bad it'll get with gunfire.”

“All right,” I nod. “Where's the nearest payphone?”

He gestures down the hall into the Spire. “Usually there's one every two hundred feet or so. If you need any spare change I-”

He blinks suddenly. “Wilde?”

I give a sudden jerk and look behind me. "Wilde?! _Nick_ Wilde? Where?”

Bartholomew chuckles, “Naw, naw. He's two floors below us. Jeez, you foxes have terrible hearing. Though I didn't know you knew Slick Nick! Hold on, I'm gonna go say hi. That skinny bastard owes me twenty bu- ghk!”

Just as Bartholomew lets go of his grip on the ceiling bar I make a grab for him before he can flutter down to Nick. Dragging him onto the balcony I hold him against my body. With a paw clapped over his mouth before he can let out an indignant squeak, I whisper into his ear.

“Bart. I need you to stay quiet and not move from here. Do _not_ say anything to Nick Wilde.”

He gives a frightened nod as I let him go.

Leaning down over the edge of the railing I watch as, sure enough, about forty feet below me Nick Wilde and an arctic fox are heading out onto the skyway. They're going at a brisk pace, talking quietly to one another. Wilde's not dressed as he usually is. He's in one of those three-piece suits that all Praetors wear, likely lined with kevlar fibers. It's a dark brown suit, oddly subdued for Wilde, but if he needs to give less of a memorable impression it's working.

As for the other fox...

My eyes widen when I recognize that happy grin. Is that... Sebastian Dusk? The _Smiler_?

It's still hard to believe, Nick Wilde side by side with the Vulpes Sangunis' primary envoy and torturer. He's always seemed so harmless in the precinct. And the psych profile we got from Conall painted a fox that was a bit on the needy and pathetic side. When the DNA tests came back I hadn't wanted to believe. Even when Lenny came to us with evidence that he was using a scent mask like the Sanguinis Praetors did I was still skeptical. I know better than anyone, perhaps better even than Jack, how well foxes can mask their true natures. But I still hadn't expected _this_.

I turn on my cellphone camera and quietly take a few pictures as I follow them. This isn't good. If they've already closed in on those Blue manufacturing sheep something big was about to go down. I type Jack a quick text as I continue to follow. It won't go through, not in the cell reception dead zone that is the Nocturnal District, but hopefully I'll pick up a signal somehow as I follow and the pending message will get to him.

I unholster my gun just as we reach Spire Four.

Dashing to the stairwell I race down the steps, heading two floors down to hopefully get to them both. My heart's racing, a cold chill is running down my spine. Dusk was never much of a fighter, and even if Nick's a Praetor my best guess is that he's a novice. That, and I've got the element of surprise on my side. It should be possible to take them both down in an eyeblink.

Or maybe I _should_ try to get to the nearest payphone. Or to one of the internet cafes deep in the Spire where I might be able to get a signal. Jack won't be able to respond of course, not when he's in the middle of conducting another raid. But at least he might be able to call in some backup for me to respond in the next, oh, ten to fifteen minutes.

No. No, that's too long. Whatever Sebastian Dusk had been ordered to do to those sheep tonight, this needs to stop _now_.

I open the door slowly, stepping out onto the balcony here. Looking out I can see Spire Three where I'd just come from, a thousand feet away. Taking a quick peek around the square I see no one. The whole District is out of sync with the rest of Zootopia... most mammals here would be at work right now, and there certainly aren't many sightseers at this time of night. The square here is kind of a commercial graveyard at this hour too. I spy a couple sandwich shops and cafes beside the apartment complexes that stretch deeper into the Spire, but the seats are empty and they'll likely stay empty for another couple hours.

My ears flick back and forth, trying to discern the presence of any mammals here. There's no one.

Slipping out I grab the doorknob, letting it shut nice and slow behind me. Where had Dusk and Wilde gone? Wait, had they gotten here before me? They would have to get to the ground floor a hundred feet down to get to the building on Aye-Aye Way, so they must've taken the elevator.

Good thing I'd brought my climbing gear.

I go to the edge of the balcony and take out my length of spidersilk cord. Nice and thin, with ultra-high tensile strength. The thing can hold five hundred pounds, easily. I loop it through the railing and clip it tight. It shouldn't take more than five seconds for me to rappel down several floors. The cord isn't long enough to reach the ground, but I don't need it to go that far. All I need is to get close enough to Wilde and Dusk when they exit out onto the street so I can plug them. I'll try to go for a disabling shot on Wilde, but if I get a chance to kill Dusk I'm going for it.

Just then I hear someone behind me.

It's such a soft sound, the footsteps of a sneaking fox, but I've done enough recon to recognize it. Spinning around I gasp as the figure charges me, a rusty pipe in one paw and murder in his gaze.

I'd put away my gun as I was affixing the cord, and just as I draw it and aim he swings with a harsh growl. I yelp as the pipe connects with my wrist, and my weapon goes sailing over the edge and down to the street below.

I feel the rod landing on my skull then, and colors explode in my vision as my opponent knocks me to the floor. There's a distant clattering sound as I slide to my knees, of my cell phone falling to the floor. I've collapsed against the railing, disabled before I can even get a blow in. Dizzy and weakened, my left paw nonetheless reaches for my belt knife when a firm paw grasps my wrist, while another grips me tight around the throat.

“I'm sorry...” he murmurs. My vision's blurry, and his voice sounds like it's coming from the end of a long tunnel, but when I look into those bright green eyes they're sad and watery. He genuinely regrets that he's been forced to do this.

With a hard shove my body slips over the railing.

As I feel the cool air whipping past me, the scent of clean mineral water and dissolved limestone in my nose, all I can think of is that I wish I'd kissed Jack one last time before I left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Dun dun duuuuuuuuun.
> 
> I wrote Nick's section when I had just experienced the same thing recently. Happy dreams where you get your deepest desires fulfilled are the most terrible, long-lasting traumas you can get, I swear.
> 
> And I realize many people might think "Oh my gosh it sure it stupid of Skye to go after Nick and Sebastian like that on her own," but remember that she's just discovered the location of one of the sheep, and she knows that if she doesn't try to do something to stop it IMMEDIATELY they'll likely end up as a dozen or so burnt corpses like what happened with Jesse and the Warehouse fire. Plus, if she did call in the local cops, they wouldn't be trained to take on Praetors. It might've ended up even more of a slaughter.
> 
> It wasn't the smart decision perhaps, but it's hard to say that calling for help would've been any better, especially since it would've allowed the VS to swoop in and do some real damage, likely before the cops arrived. Skye was hoping that by taking out one of the Big Bads (Sebastian) it might've stalled the raid on the compound. And who knows how long it would've taken to get to a pay phone?
> 
> Skye was thus banking on the greater certainty of getting a kill in, over the greater UNcertainty of being able to get the police in action effectively.


	23. The Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sheep are under attack.

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

I've barely eaten. I've barely slept. In the past month I must've dropped ten pounds. When I look in the mirror in the morning my face is so much more gaunt than it used to be, and my fur's getting thinner. It just makes the pink lines that'd been raked across my face all the more prominent. A little black pleather polish rubbed into the scars helps cover things up a little: keeps mammals from recognizing me on the street on a first glance at least, especially when I wear a hoodie. But nothing can hide the haunted look in my eyes or the weariness that's dragging me down.

“I- I don't think I can do this...” I whimper. My paw's trembling as I hold the gun. Good thing the safety's on. With it twitching back and forth in my pocket I'm liable to shoot my own dick off. Though frankly that doesn't sound so bad at the moment... maybe I'll be able to squirm out of this if I've injured myself prematurely.

But then again, if I ruin this mission they might just give me over to Sebastian, and I saw his work at the warehouse. That'd been more than enough to terrify me into compliance.

“Just cool it, Milo,” Oliver urges, “Come on, man. It's not like this is your first time.”

“Man, the first time I was fucked up on Blue! The second time...”

It'd been strange, how those layers of wool yielded so easily to the knife. Shepsfield, like so many other sheep, had just seemed fat at first glance, but it turned out that he only had a little bit of pudge beneath his coat. The guy had been more wool than sheep in fact, and when I drove the knife in it'd gone through the layer of fluff so easily that when I felt the first bit of resistance from his flesh it'd caught me by surprise.

I knew what to expect by the second blow. Then the third, and the fourth, and the fifth. I'd just kept going until my paws were stained red and Shepsfield lay twitching on the tiles. Even when Oliver helped me wash up I could still smell the blood, even as the acrid stink of my puke thickened the air.

“See, man?” Oliver shoots me a mad grin, like he's trying to be reassuring. “You're a pro at this by now.”

But I don't want to be a pro. I don't want to be a killer. It'd been the drugs that made me into a murderer the first time, and desperation had sealed that title for sure on the second. Deep down, even though I probably have a higher body count to my name compared to every other henchmammal working for the foxes, I'm terrified of taking another life.

The others had been nervous at first. Most of them had been far from hardened criminals. They'd been petty thieves and gangsters, guys who'd underestimated the sobriety of the girls they'd pressed into bed. They'd fucked up and had earned their sentences, but they weren't necessarily violent. They weren't killers.

Yet one by one Jacob and the other Praetors had beaten all the hesitation out of them. One by one they'd grown numb to the violence. Hell, a couple even relished it. Every one of them wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet through another mammal or slitting a throat now.

Me though... I'm still scared.

I still have nightmares. In my dreams I'm still in that goddamn nightclub, the taste of blood sweet and nourishing on my tongue. All those other mammals had seemed so _small_ , so _weak_ , and I had been so sure that I could dominate them. I could kill them without flinching. I could eat them without gagging. In my dreams I'm still that way, free and feral, shredding throats and devouring flesh and bone like my ancestors had done tens of thousands of years ago.

I dream of Shepsfield bleating in terror as he dies. I dream of a standing in a thick red river, grinning and naked and awash in the blood of my prey. In my nightmares the gore clings to me always, until the sharp scent of iron and rot has seeped into my flesh permanently, and everyone I've ever loved flees at the sight of me.

And when they run my instincts take over, and that's when I give chase.

The father who'd disowned me... I devour his face, peeling strips of flesh from the screaming mass of muscle and bone beneath me. The mother who'd cried for me each night, who tried to comfort me whenever I called and who I tried to comfort in turn, her tears flow for a different reason now as I overpower her and my fangs meet the breast that I'd suckled from as a cub.

When I wake up I break down sobbing and nauseous, unable to control myself. Oliver had tried to comfort me the first couple of days, but soon after that he lost his patience with my crying. I'd had to plead with Dr. Allister for something that'd help me sleep, and she was happy to provide. The pills helped put me into a thick, dreamless void for a few hours.

Oblivion, I realized, could be paradise.

Surely Jacob must've known the state I was in. Surely he must know that I'm not fit to do this. But for some reason I'm here alongside the rest of the ex-cons, with a gun in my pocket and making a pathetic attempt to look casual as we linger on the corner.

“Come on, man,” Oliver whispers, cupping the side of my face with one paw. He plants a kiss on my muzzle. His mouth is warm and his breath is spicy from the those cricket jalapeno poppers we'd picked up from Bug Burga earlier. He'd tried to share to cheer me up, but I wasn't hungry. “Just remember your training, and it'll be over real soon. All you gotta do is stay calm. Don't worry, Milo... I'll watch out for you like I always do.”

“Ollie...” I whimper. I wanna tell him again that I can't do this. I wanna tell him to run with me, to try to make our escape while the rest of the crew attacks.

But I know he'd never agree to it. He'd taken to Jacob's training faster than everyone else. It'd been no surprise, Oliver had been one of our team's top athletes after all, right behind Cal. Jacob was proud of him, and Oliver grinned at each little pat on the head like he was getting approval from the father he'd always wanted. He'd never give that up for our freedom, even though every night we have sex he whispers in my ear how much he loves me.

I can't make it alone. I'm not strong enough, or smart enough, or fast enough to escape the Praetors. They'd hunt me down and Sebastian would take me apart, smiling the whole time.

“You can do it, Milo,” Oliver whispers, and he kisses me again. It's the perfect cover, I realize. We must look like a pair of gay lovers on the corner of this run-down street. “I promise... tonight, once this is over, I'll suck you off nice and clean. You'd like that, right?”

No. No, I don't want that. I don't want any of it.

But before I can even think of disagreeing, one of the windows to the building shatters and the flare and crack of he flashbang grenade rattles the glass. Screams and bleats begin to erupt from the interior. Oliver whips out his gun and disengages the safety, ready to pick off any cops who try to interfere.

And to my dismay... I do the same.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Woolter Albinus** _

 

About damn time Doug came after me.

Frankly, it was hard to believe he'd done that to Jesse at first. Doug's always been the kind of nerd I used to shove into lockers back when I was in school. The guy's always been focused more on the process of his sciencey shit than actually making anything useful out of it, too stuck in his own head to be productive. Imagine my surprise when I learned that he torched poor Jesse's lab, and him and his crew with it.

Fact is, I've seen Doug's mean streak. He's always had a certain arrogance about this being _his_ process rather than just some goddamn recipe any mammal could follow. Okay I'll admit that I'm having trouble getting the color right, and the buzz you get from his stuff is much sharper, and no one's gotten a bad reaction on his formula as far as I know. But you should've seen the way he'd frothed at the mouth when I told him I was starting up my own crew, that I was getting away from his control-freak self. He's screamed and raged and stamped his little hooves over how this was _his_ life's work, that we had no right to it.

That'd been the last straw.

I'm not a violent mammal. I'm really not. But with Doug going crazy and killing off his honest competitors over a goddamn recipe I've got no choice.

Yet when the grenades break through the window I'm still caught by surprise.

Terrified bleats fill the building as I hear more glass shattering, and the sound of explosions ring through each floor. One of them lands about ten feet away from me just as I grab my uzi: the deafening bang rings my ears and sends me reeling like a drunkard, while the brilliant white flash blisters my vision. I'm stumbling, retching, blinded and regretting my sheep's 320 degree field of vision for the first time in my life.

The sound of the doors to the first floor being beaten down is a muted, distant thing, but when the lower levels fill with angry screams and gunfire it can't be anything else.

I've collapsed to my hooves, groping blindly for the uzi I'd dropped. I hadn't expected Doug to be so coordinated, so _vicious_. Most of our guys weren't killers. We were disgruntled Millenials, high school and college dropouts. Yet some of us are firing back, choking and half-blinded by the smoke.

No... no, you wooly bastard. I'm not gonna go down like this.

I'm not a criminal. I'm not some crazy mobster who'd kill anyone who got in my way. Fuck, I've never even held a gun until recently. Perhaps a braver mammal would've gone to defend his flock, but I'm no leader. I'm just a ram who wanted to make some quick and easy cash.

So please believe me when I say I'm not proud of myself right now. I'd prepared for just this eventuality, and disoriented as I am I grope for the locker door. Fumbling with the key for a moment I open it and yank out the duffel bag, swinging it over my shoulder. It's about fifty thousand bucks, mostly in tens and twenties, along with a few other essentials just in case.

Throwing the window open I blink, taking a quick look outside. My vision's still blurry but I can still make out vague shapes and motion, and by the look of it the alley's empty.

I half-roll, half-stumble out onto the fire escape. My head's still spinning, and it takes every ounce of focus I have to not slip and break my neck on the concrete twenty feet below. The sounds of life-or-death battle are beginning to subside: my gang's screams and bleats are going quiet. The crack of gunfire is fading. Doug's mobsters must be cleaning up now, and I need to hustle if I'm gonna make my escape.

The moment my hooves hit the concrete though I see the silhouettes of two large cats. They turn around immediately raise their guns.

Fuck!

With a terrified bleat I raise my uzi. In my state though I'm slow on the draw, and they both dodge around the corner as I fire a spray of bullets in their direction. The recoil almost throws the uzi from my hoof completely.

“Give it up, sheep!” one of them snarls as I try to regain my balance.

“FUCK YOU, PREDATOR!” I snarl. Seriously? Did Doug _seriously_ have the stones to go recruit a pair of goddamn preds after the Bellwether job?

With both hooves on my gun I'm about to fire the moment I see one of their muzzles round the corner, when I hear a pop behind me.

There's a sharp pain my back, right between my shoulder blades. I'm going numb, crumpling to the ground. Did the bullet just sever my spinal cord? Oh no... no, no...

It wasn't supposed to be like this. All I needed was another year or two, hit a million bucks so I could move to Lambcaster. I was gonna make it big and move out of this pred-infested shithole, start a new life where _proper_ mammals lived.

When I collapse I have just enough strength in my arms to roll onto my side, and when I gaze up into the window I see a moose staring down at me, his eyes like chips of ice.

The two cats are looming over me now, still aiming their tranq guns down at me. But even as my vision's beginning to fog over I see the blue ZPD uniforms and body armor... a tigress and a tiger.

“Officers Fangmeyer and Kaplan reporting!” the tigress shouts into her Bluetooth headset, “Woolter Albinus is down! Repeat, Woolter Albinus has been tranq'd!”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Miles Elkredge** _

 

Overhead Adrienne's surveillance drones are circling the neighborhood along automated paths, fighting the constant breeze that flows through the Canyonlands. At first they'd been keeping an eye out for any of Woolter's gang that might've slipped away. So far only a couple had gotten more than a block, but the reserve team had taken him down with ruthless efficiency.

Now though the drones are circling in a broad radius to secure the area, under my orders. While it'd never happened before on my watch, Jack was justified in worrying about the Vulpes Sanguinis leaving a few snipers planted on the roofs of the nearby buildings, just to steal our catch from us.

Fifteen drug-dealing sheep pacified and under arrest, lined up on the sidewalk with their hooves cuffed behind their backs. All in all it'd been a stunningly successful operation.

The medics patch up the Razorback officers who've been injured. Nothing major: mostly minor flesh wounds. A few had taken bullets to the torso, but their armor had blunted the damage. Worst case scenario they'd be suffering from some nasty bruises.

At this time of night the streets are mostly empty. Not many mammals come through this run-down corner of the Canyonlands either. It's an ugly little neighborhood where the concrete walls had been painted over in a way that poorly mimicked the sandstone and adobe of the more upscale buildings in the area. Here and there the facade was beginning to peel away or flake off, revealing bone-white plaster beneath. The whole place is cheap, run-down, and ugly.

Still, we've got our share of rubberneckers. A giraffe and a lion are holding up cell phones and trying to record the aftermath of the raid, but the ZPD officers tasked with crowd control are ushering them away. Others are erecting traffic barriers to keep the few drivers in the area, and more importantly news crews, from getting too close to the scene. While the ZPD's been a disciplined bunch so far, I still wouldn't put it past any of 'em to mug for the cameras.

I take a nice, long drag on my cigarette. I swear, the ending of a good operation is the greatest high in the world, especially when you get to plug your target yourself. It's better than a smoke and a brandy after a long day. It's better than sex. Granted I wouldn't turn down a decent blow at this moment, so long as my partner's patient about me getting it up. But god I wish I could bask in this feeling forever. Frankly, it's one of the few things that makes life worth living at my age.

Maybe I'll give Georgia a call... last I checked she hadn't remarried. Might even throw a pity fuck in my direction.

“Excellent job, Miles,” Jack says, surveying the sheep that'd been lined up.

“Can't take all the credit,” I admit. “These Razorbacks are gonna put me out of a job. They got a head for tactical planning as well as anyone I know.”

“That's saying something,” Jack whistles between his teeth. He knows I don't give compliments lightly. Then again it's not much of one, seeing as how I'm planning on retiring soon.

“It'll be a couple hours before the tranqs wear off and I can interrogate Woolter,” I say, mashing the stub of my cigarette against the wall behind me.

“Get some sleep then.”

“Could say the same to you,” I grumble, looking down at Jack. Dark rings circle his eyes, and his ears aren't as perky as they usually are. Some days he seems even more exhausted than I am. Well, nature of the case after all. For me it's just another job. For him this one's personal.

“You're gonna run yourself ragged if you keep this pace up,” I grunt. God, I need a drink. Sahara Square's just a quick drive away, and they've got a red light district that can help me get other kinds of relief too.

“You almost sound like you care,” Jack smirks.

“Don't flatter yourself. You know I've been assigned to keep your fluffy ass out of the fire. I'm already on the end of my wick, Jack. I get to burn out, you don't.”

He looks away from me. Jack Savage is unlike any bunny I'd known in my life. He's so reserved, so good at hiding his feelings. The passion's there of course: that fiery, almost nervous energy of his species. But whereas most rabbits are more on the tail end of fight-or-flight, Jack's the former. He just hides it really well.

“We're working against the clock, Miles,” he mutters, looking up as one of Adrienne's drones zips by overhead. “Doug was the one we needed.”

His cool blue eyes stare at each of the perps as the Razorbacks pile them into their vans. “Still...” he adds, “At least we got these guys. If only Cairo had gone this smoothly.”

I snort. “Do you really have to bring up that shitshow of an operation?”

“Never told you this, but I still take out the incident report and go over it once a week or so,” Jack sighs. “Helps remind me of my past mistakes.”

“Gee, I didn't know you could get so sentimental.”

Jack's eyes dart up to meet mine with an incredulous gaze, before he breaks out laughing. It isn't often that I get sarcastic, but when I do I lay it on thick. The guy really is as sentimental as they come, and I don't think I've ever met a mammal more haunted by his past. At least Jack embraces the nature of his obsession.

He's still snickering when his phone rings.

“Hold up. Agent Savage here,” he answers, putting a finger up and telling me to wait. “Clawhauser wh-”

His eyes widen.

“Where? How did...”

All the mirth and dark humor drains from him. He sags against the wall, ears going completely limp. The dark circles around his eyes seem to become more prominent, and he stares blankly as Clawhauser continues. I can't make out what the fat cheetah is saying, but I can pick up the urgency and panic.

“Th-thank you, Clawhauser...” Jack murmurs, and hangs up.

“Good lord, Jack. What's wrong?” I snort. “Someone die?”

With everything I've seen on this job, and at my age, few things can truly unnerve me. But the darkness in his eyes when he looks up at me comes close. There's something haunting and soulless in his gaze, something that's fundamentally broken from that call. It's something I hadn't seen since I first met Jack, and something I'd hoped I'd never see again. When I manage to gather the energy to speak it's in a low, mournful whisper.

“Oh, fuck...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Nothing much to say here, except that I like writing action scenes and I think it's probably what I'm best at. This arc though I'm trying to focus more on intrigue, drama, tragedy, and a bit of romance. Those take a LOT more planning and are much more fulfilling when done right. Action scenes though tend to feel a bit hollow since it's all about coordinating bodies in motion, and my habit is just to hammer it out quick as I can so I can get back to the more emotionally-charged stuff.
> 
> Expect another update on Sunday.


	24. Dealing With Doc Conall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy talks with the good doctor, Rufinius talks to his son, Jack mulls things over.

_**ZNN transcript, September 29, 2017. Fabienne Growley and Peter Moosebridge reporting:** _

 

_**GROWLEY:** Tragic story tonight. A female believed to be a ZIA Agent was killed today in the Nocturnal District. At around three AM locals at the base of Spire Four reported seeing a figure plummeting from one of the balconies, striking the roof of a local machine shop. While there are conflicting reports as to the identity of her species, it is believed that the victim was on an intelligence-gathering mission when she was attacked and thrown from the Spire. The hundred-foot fall proved fatal, and she was pronounced dead at the scene._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** It is likely that the unnamed Agent's death is related to the massacre that occurred not two blocks away. ZPD officers who arrived at the site report that at least two dozen bodies have been discovered, all of whom were sheep or related members of he Caprinae subfamily. The causes of death have yet to be released, but officials have stated that the old building in which they were found had been an operating Blue lab, with disturbing similarities to the warehouse fire seen last month._

_**GROWLEY:** Despite this however, a representative of the ZIA has reported that a successful operation in the Canyonlands district at approximately the same time has led to the capture of Woolter Albinus and his cohorts. Viewers may recall that Albinus is also a suspect implicated in the Bellwether conspiracy, and has been on the ZIA's Most Wanted list as a suspected manufacturer of Blue. Remarkably and fortunately, all members of his gang were taken alive. Certainly a bright note on this otherwise frightening and tragic day._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** Here with us tonight to discuss these events is Council Member Virgil Wedsley of the Canyonlands. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Wedsley._

_**WEDSLEY:** As usual, it is my pleasure to be here._

_**GROWLEY:** Council Member Wedsley, what are your thoughts regarding last night's events?_

_**WEDSLEY:** I wish I could say I was relieved, Fabienne. But the fact is, what we saw last night was yet another example of the Lionheart administration's overreach when it comes to Zootopia's security. While granted it is a good thing that Mr. Albinus has been arrested, this sort of militant assault shows that our Mayor believes he can do anything he wants. The good mammals of the Canyonlands must not be treated as if they were terrorists in a foreign country. This is not Tigria, after all. We are respectable, peace-loving mammals in a respectable District._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** But surely you have to allow for the fact that we live in very dangerous times right now. Some use of force seems justified after the warehouse fire in which Jesse Lyserod and his gang were killed._

_**WEDSLEY:** I'm not entirely convinced that is the case. Now don't take me the wrong way when I say this, I'm sure I'll be misquoted, but we need to acknowledge the uncomfortable fact that it was only when the Executive branch and the ZIA stepped in that we saw such an escalation of force both in the criminal underground and the police response. We need to look to the top and denounce this pred way of thinking: that crime is an issue that can only be solved by overwhelming use of violence._

 

~~~~~

 

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

I can't even look up to meet his gaze.

As usual Doc Conall's trying to make me feel comfortable. He's brewed some masala chai with real milk, and he's set a platter of baklava on the table between us. It's not his usual fine china: that stuff's back in his office, and for the moment he's borrowed one of the small offices here at the ZPD to use as a temporary base of operations. Instead he's using plain white mugs on loan from the cafeteria. I'd taken a sip just to be polite... stuff's almost as good as Danny would make it. Just needs a touch more cardamom.

Despite his hospitality I don't feel comfortable around him. I can't even look him in the eye. While Conall had been perfectly polite when he asked me to see him, it definitely sounded more like an order than a request. I feel like a kitten again, caught with his paw in the cookie jar.

“How is your brother?” he asks.

“Recovering,” I say simply. In fact, he was discharged just a couple days ago. Thank god for that. There'd been no real brain damage, and the wound hadn't been all that deep. It'll take a few weeks for him to heal up enough to get back to work, but for now he'll have to rest up at home.

I feel so ashamed about my behavior now. Lionheart really may have just saved Danny's life, or at least kept him from becoming a vegetable. In return I'd rewarded him with threats. With insults. I'd slammed his face into the side of a bus stop, and in my rage I might've even ripped him apart like some crazed Blue user.

Of course, Lionheart hadn't done himself any favors by threatening to reveal our secret.

For all that Luke had gone on about how my brother was in love with me, he certainly hadn't been all that emotionally needy ever since he got back home. Guy actually seemed to get kind of frustrated with how I was doting on him. I'm sure by now that he knows that I know, but we've been keeping silent on the issue, trying to shift back to some level of normality while he's healing.

“I realize your situation has been difficult, Benjy,” Conall says. “But it would've been best for you to have come to me of your own accord earlier this week.”

“I had to take care of my brother.”

“And yet you've been on active duty as per your normal schedule.” His tone is calm and gentle, but there's something beneath it that's chiding. “More than that, you participated in the raid on Woolter Albinus' compound two days ago.”

I wince. He really had to be direct about it.

Truth is, when I wasn't at the hospital I was getting too antsy to do anything else. I'd tried to work off all my extra energy at the gym, but that wasn't nearly enough. I was still furious at what that assassin had done to my brother. I needed to wreck some shit. Being out on patrol... I've never felt so alert. God help the poor criminal who had to cross paths with me.

When Woolter came down off that fire escape I'd almost had my chance, too. Lucky for him Elkredge took him down before I could.

Conall's nose twitches, and he tilts his head as he continues. “I do understand your anger. And I do understand your need for revenge. But your brother is alive, Benjy.”

My eyes widen. Holy fuck, is he psychic or something? Yet another reason to hate psychologists. “You must understand that this attack Danny endured didn't just hurt him,” Conall continues, “it's caused serious injury to you as well. Not physical of course, but it has the potential to be even more damaging. You need time to recover every bit as much as he does. Perhaps spend some time with your brother and-”

“I can't,” I say hastily. “It's... it's complicated. But I can't be around him too much right now.”

It's one thing for me to help Danny to the bathroom, keep his wounds clean, and cook for him. But it's another entirely to talk. We barely said anything to one another since he got back.

He opens his mouth to continue in that hypnotically calm voice of his when the doorknob turns and a pair of long, striped ears poke through.

Conall's golden eyes widen, and he straightens up in his seat. His tone becomes frosty when he faces the bunny who strides in.

“Agent Savage, you're interrupting a private session. I must ask you to leave.”

“Funny, Dr. Conall,” Savage says. He sounds tired... no, almost _bored_. “I know a bit about your practice, and I know you're not in the habit of dragging mammals into your office by the scruff of the neck.”

“I've spoken to Chief Bogo about this. It is department policy that anyone who has suffered an attack like Benjy has needs to be evaluated by me.”

“Bogo isn't in charge of my task force,” Jack says. Somehow with his posture he seems to stand as tall as Conall, “And his policies aren't mine. Unlike you I respect Officer Kaplan's autonomy in this situation.”

“Benjy needs a structured environment right now,” Conall's eyes narrow. “He needs order.”

“And until he consents, you won't be the one providing it. Officer Kaplan, could we step outside and talk, please?”

I could only sit there, gawking as the two snipe at each other like a kid caught in the middle of two parents fighting. It feels ridiculous... I weigh three, four times more than both of them put together, yet for all my strength and ferocity in the ring I feel so small right now.

Murmuring an apology, I get up from my seat. If anyone else had gotten me out of this shrink's office I would've been grateful. As things stand, I just feel awkward.

“Are you planning on making a habit of interfering with my practice?” All the placid warmth in Conall's voice is gone now. Instead there's an icy sharpness in his tone, and it cuts the air like a razor as he stares Jack down. I'm thankful I'm not on the receiving end of that gaze. He doesn't sound angry, not exactly, but when he speaks a faint chill runs up my spine. “I must warn you Agent Savage, I dislike this lack of professionalism on your part. I dislike it immensely.”

Jack glances over his shoulder at the wolf, and a funny look crosses his face when his blue eyes meet Conall's golden ones. Just as quickly though, so quickly that I start to think I might've just imagined it, his features smooth over again.

“Officer Kaplan, if you please.”

We walk in silence on the way to Agent Savage's office. The shirt he wears beneath his suit jacket is completely black. The dark ensemble doesn't really suit him in mourning... quite the opposite, in fact. It just makes his white fur and the pink insides of his ears look all the warmer.

Jack has to hop to clamber up to his seat. It's strange taking orders from such a smaller mammal. They need stools and high seats so that they can talk on the same level as us bigger guys, but the act of clambering up onto the things is kinda humiliating on its own. I'm not a speciesist... trust me, I'd be the last to say that bunnies shouldn't be in leadership positions over mammals like me. But you gotta admit that they got an uphill battle to make it work, and sometimes it might just be best for someone else to be in charge.

“I'm sorry you had to see that, Officer Kaplan,” Savage says. I sit bolt upright, thinking he's read my mind somehow. Despite his stature he _is_ ZIA after all, and he probably has some crazy preternatural sense about these things. Best not to forget that.

“I really do respect Dr. Conall, you know,” Savage continues. I let out a relieved sigh when it clicks that he isn't talking about having to clamber up onto his chair so we can speak muzzle-to-muzzle. Wouldn't do to have _two_ weirdly perceptive mammals in the precinct. “He really is one of the best. But I find that in crises such as the one we're experiencing right now, the protocols he follows are a bit too rigid to allow us to do what we need to get results.”

“I'm just glad to be out of there, sir.”

“Honestly, I would be too,” he folds his paws in front of him on the desk. “I'm glad to hear your brother is recovering.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say quietly. I think back to the spat I had with Lionheart. The shame of that memory will be burning bright for a while longer. He didn't deserve what I'd done to him.

“I'm... I'm sorry to hear about Agent Skye,” I murmur.

For a while he just sits there, features flat and unreadable. I feel hot. Had I said something wrong? According to the rumor mill, the two of 'em had been lovers.

“Even with the successful raid we're seen some real tragedy these past few weeks...” Agent Savage murmurs. “Officer Kaplan... Benjy. I intervened because I know you're not the type to take things lying down. You want to get back into the action right away. For some mammals that's good. Healthy. The losses they experience give them drive to complete the mission. If you want to stay on active duty for now, we can discuss that. If you feel the need to have some time off, that's fine too. A couple weeks of leave would do you good.”

I don't even hesitate.

“I want to stay on the task force.”

Agent Savage stares at me over steepled fingers when I answer. I'm not sure that was what he was hoping to hear. No, I have to shrug off those doubts. I can't second-guess myself right now.

“Kaplan, if you're going to keep working under me, I need to know that you're on board and that I can trust you.”

“One hundred percent, Sir.”

He continues to stare at me. Even though I'm facing a bunny, those cold blue eyes are unnerving.

“All right. I was planning to brief the ZPD on this when we're all present on Monday, but at this point it's crucial for you to understand what we're facing here.” He leans over to the side and, taking his key ring out of his pocket, Savage unlocks his desk drawer. He pulls out a slim folder.

“The ZIA wasn't called in just because of the Blue epidemic, Kaplan. That was bad enough. The fact is, several months ago we received intel that one of the most dangerous organized crime syndicates in our City's history was returning to Zootopia.”

Savage slides the folder over to me. “They've been around for as long as the City existed. Not many know about the First Families, but the story goes that centuries ago a dozen or so wealthy mammals turned a ragtag farming community into the technocratic metropolis we know today. The Frisks were one of them... a breed of foxes that claims it can trace its lineage back over a thousand years.”

Savage sits back up as I flip through the folder. It's a basic summary of a group called the Vulpes Saguinis, led by someone called The Prince of the Frisk family. I remember that title... Jack had mentioned a name too, the night of the warehouse fire. Rufus something, wasn't it?

“They really came to prominence during the Prohibition era though, and continued their illustrious career as crime lords by dominating the black market catnip industry from the mid-twentieth century and on. But that isn't the worst of it,” Savage's face grows tight, and his voice hardens.

“Around sixty years ago there were a series of disappearances in Bunnyburrow. Young bucks and does in their late teens and early twenties were vanishing. Turns out that the youngest son of their Prince at the time, Rufinis Varius Frisk, had started a campaign of kidnapping rabbits. He styled himself a biologist... the Sanguinis have always had a keen interest in the subject. Well, in botany at least. Rufinius just took his theories regarding breeding to a whole new level.”

“Mammalian trafficking,” I murmur, staring down at the contents of the file. Now I've seen my share of kinky shit, but knowing the photos spread in front of me are the real thing, that it isn't just for play... I feel sick.

“About twenty years ago however, there was a plague of mysterious deaths in the upper echelons of Zootopian society. The first few just seemed coincidental, but over time the ZIA figured out that the First Families had gone to war against one another. We were seeing assassinations left and right, but it all came to an end when the last family standing, the Frisks, were ousted from Zootopia thanks to the joint work of the ZIA and the ZPD.”

He sits back into his chair, and his eyes mist over as if he's thinking back on something. “The ZIA kept hunting them down though, working with foreign governments to try and track their movements. A couple of cells were taken down. A farm where Rufinius bred rabbits was even discovered, but by the time Agents arrived to try to liberate it the Frisks had packed up and fled.”

A note of bitterness had entered his voice. My mouth opens as I'm about to blurt something out. The question's just on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself before I say anything stupid. Or deeply personal.

“I understand, Sir,” I say instead. “I'll... I'll keep quiet about this.”

I'm about to pass the file back to him when he raises a paw.

“It's more complicated than that, Kaplan. If it were simply a matter of getting you up to speed I would've just filled you in during the briefing on Monday. Fact is, I have a special assignment for you.”

“Sir?”

“We have evidence that Nicholas Wilde is a member of the Vulpes Sanguinis.”

For a while, all I can do is stare at Agent Savage.

“What?”

“Just as I said. Nick Wilde is a Sanguinis operative. Likely what they would call a Praetor,” Savage sneers. “In fact, after testing his DNA we believe he may be the heir to the current Prince.”

“DNA... _Nick_?”

I'm having a hard time piecing this all together. In fact, when Agent Savage said so the first time none of it made sense. The thought was so strange, so unlike the cop I'd come to know and trust, that I couldn't absorb what Savage was saying. Sure all the words made sense individually: “Nick.” “Member.” “Sanguinis.” But put together the pieces just fit so poorly together that my mind couldn't accept it.

It isn't just a matter of doubt... I can't understand what the hell he was saying at all.

“I... I don't...”

Jack sighs, apparently realizing I'm having a tough time absorbing this. “Nick Wilde has a well-documented history of working on the wrong side of the law. Several months ago, he was on psych leave due to the events of the Lone Digger: what exactly was he doing in all that time, Kaplan? When he returned to active duty he displayed an unprecedented improvement in his firing range accuracy. At the Academy his performance was middling at best, and now he is quite possibly the best shot on the force.”

His tiny mouth twists into a scowl, and he stabs a finger into his desk for emphasis. “I've seen Praetors in combat, Kaplan. I've _fought_ them. I've spend my _entire adult life_ hunting them down. And trust me, this kind of improvement smacks of Sanguinis training.”

 _“Look, I realize I'm probably not in a great position to say this but... you really gotta open up, Benjy,”_ Nick's voice echoes in my mind. He'd seemed so concerned then. So caring. _“I know what it's like to wanna put on a good face, act like all the crap in your life slides off of you. I know what it's like to be so scared of opening up because you think that if you ever trust anyone, if you're ever vulnerable, you'll get hurt worse than you ever could be hurt if you were alone.”_

“It's a coincidence. It's... it's gotta be-”

“On the tail end of his stint on psych leave,” Savage interrupts, “he was attacked by Jared Shepsfield. You remember, the sheep who was sent to prison through Nick's actions? The one who was murdered in Highwatch Prison in the showers, where he was likely in full view of a dozen prisoners and several guards? Funny, isn't it? How a sheep that crossed Nick Wilde's path died under such suspicious circumstances. Like it was an assassination.”

Assassination. The word rings in my head, bringing back the sound of heart monitors beeping, the drip of saline, the smell of disinfectant and paw sanitizer and the dull cast of beige hospital walls.

Danny...

“And now we have two gangs of sheep who've been murdered. We've even uncovered DNA evidence that Nick Wilde is related to the Prince, Rufinius Varius Frisk. And we have forensic evidence too, that he's on some kind of drug that helps their assassins sneak past mammals with any decent sense of smell.”

And all of a sudden I'm imagining Nick with one of those bunnies in the file photos. The mental image comes up of him with those bondage harnesses and chains and collars; those bunnies and their glassy eyes, like mammals that've been drugged, or broken down completely to be docile little pets.

What the hell does Nick do with Judy in the bedroom anyway? What does he do _to_ her? Judy's a tough cookie, but if Wilde pressures her, if he coaxes her further and further into this stuff...

Sure it's kinda speciesist to bring up how foxes have “a reputation” when it comes to how they accost rabbits, but with the file in front of me I can't help but wonder.

I put a paw to my mouth, and I have to forcefully swallow to keep from gagging.

I've been friends with this fox. I've invited him into my _home_. I've had him at my table, laughed at his jokes and shared drinks after long nights on patrol...

“I... I don't wanna believe it...” I cover my face with my paws. No, Nick's a good guy. He can't... there's gotta be more to this story. I haven't even heard his side of things yet! I mean maybe he's undercover, or... or he's running a con job. Maybe Bogo knows something that Jack doesn't. Wouldn't be the first time two departments found themselves at odds with undercover work.

“What do you need me to do?” I say in a hoarse whisper.

“For now? Keep an eye on Wilde. We've had him under observation for the past month, but I wouldn't put it past the Sanguinis to have taken precautions to avoid detection. Maybe he'll let his guard down around you. Slip up.”

“I'm... not a very good liar...” I admit.

“Well, if he ever notices you nervous or angry,” Jack says smoothly, “Just play it off as you being under a lot of stress from your current home situation. And if that doesn't work, you can always tell him you're worried Bogo will send you to Doc Conall.”

I sit up straighter. “But... that won't really happen. Right, Agent Savage?”

“I certainly hope it won't come to that,” he says with a thin smile. “But frankly, that's the difference between the ZPD and the ZIA. The eccentrics that Conall would rather have institutionalized if he saw 'em in the ZPD make the best Agents... ones who aren't afraid to push the boundaries.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

“Nick didn't have to be there. My _son_ didn't have to be there.”

Jacob's eyes bore into me, his anger might as well have been veiled in gauze. I let him stew as I prune my rosebush, and his words are as wind to me. They brush past, stirring me momentarily, and are gone.

“He is one of us, Jacob,” I say, giving a stem a hard snip for emphasis. "You cannot expect him to remain on the periphery forever.”

“You could've at least sent me to escort him. I would've spotted Agent Skye early on. I could've prevented this!” Jacob says in a voice that's far closer to a growl than I should've allowed. A Frisk must be calm. He must use his emotions as stepping stones towards greater heights. Yet right now he is close to being crushed by his anger.

It is no matter though. I have long grown accustomed to my son being a disappointment.

“Nicholas is under _my_ protection, Jacob,” I say in a voice as smooth and cold as the surface of a winter pond. “That serves him far better than yours ever could.”

“Does it? Father... my Prince... you didn't see him that night. He was weeping like he was a child again. He was inconsolable! Agent Skye wasn't his friend, but he still knew her! If he keeps winding up in situations like this he _will_ break!”

“He is a Frisk, Jacob. He is stronger than that.”

“My Prince...” my son says, reaching out with both paws as if he's pleading. Has he reached the bargaining stage already? Must I endure his tears and sullen depression before he will finally accept this situation?

I set the shears down and slip the gloves off, and turning towards Jacob I cup his face on my paws. He flinches at first, looking into my eyes with a mixture of revulsion and fury and fear, but deep in his gaze there is indeed that note of pleading as well.

“I seem to recall a young tod much like him,” I say with a monastic calm. “Broken. Sobbing. Mourning what he had lost. And loathing himself for what he'd been forced to do. What happened to him?”

He shakes his head slightly, mouthing a silent protest.

“He grew stronger, Jacob. Do not think you and I are opposed on this. In truth, we are both in the same situation,” I let go of him, and he steps back, staring down at his feet. “You and I... we must learn to have faith in our progeny. Now come. Walk with me.”

I had grown accustomed to hearing the sounds of Nicholas and Jacob training at this time in the Twilight Cathedral. I mislike this new silence. It is the sound of wasted potential and indolence. Though my Praetors are sharp as ever, they are not my grandson nor my heir.

Yet I'd had no choice but to allow Nicholas a few days to himself. It takes time for guilt and shame to callus over, for strength to replace softness. Those weaknesses will be pruned away over time, but for now Nicholas will need to recover. And the next time he returns, before he has fully come to terms with Agent Skye's fate, there will be a golden window in which he is still vulnerable to my gentle encouragement.

We descend to the level below the Cathedral proper. The dungeon is poorly lit, the cells cramped and soundproofed. Many had died in the oubliettes, but only when I deemed they were of no more use to me... Hayder Leonis had been my sweetest prize, and when we were forced out of the city I simply bid goodbye to what was left of him and left the former patriarch to scream against the darkness, his howls of despair echoing behind me.

I wonder how many days he'd lasted? There'd been such a rush to move our operation out of the city then, but perhaps I could've spared a few Praetors to take him along with us. After what his family had tried to do to ours he deserved every sweet torment I'd put him through, and more besides.

It was most satisfying to open his cell when we finally returned, to gaze upon the yellowed bones and the decades-old stains that were left on the concrete.

The two Praetors assigned for guard duty bow their heads.

“My Prince,” they say in unison.

“Gaius. Otho,” I nod to each of them in turn. “I would like to speak to Mr. Schaffer.”

“Of course, my Prince,” Gaius nods, and taking out his key he unlocks the door.

The ram is huddled in a corner, still wearing that yellow hazmat suit. When the light floods into the otherwise completely black cell he lets out a bleat, shielding those hideous eyes of his.

“Oh thank you...” he says in a soft whimper. “Thank you, thank you...”

“Have you eaten yet?” I ask, trying to sound concerned. Sebastian would've been better suited to coax the ram into compliance, but Doug Schaffer is no mere plebian. He deserves at least a bit more respect. “I imagine you haven't slept well. Would you like a blanket, perhaps? A shower and a change of clothes?”

“Let me go...” Doug whimpers. Though his natural cadence is much flatter, almost lazy, his confinement in complete darkness has incubated a good note of panic.

Just days ago he'd thought he could become one of the new aristocrats of the City's underground. Yet like all _noveau riche_ he was gauche. Unrefined. Disdainful of the proper institutions and traditions of power. True much of his misbehavior had been due to ignorance, so some forgiveness is warranted. Yet I cannot help but feel some measure of disgust towards this creature.

Worse still was that two of my Praetors had died in the raid on his compound, while another three had been injured. And that foxes had been killed by such lesser mammals... it is a loathsome thought.

With the twenty-five I had brought to Zootopia with me, each one killed was a loss that would be difficult to replace. If the reports could be trusted, even when we add in the ex-convicts we'd secured as henchmammals, the ZIA task force alone would outnumber us two-to-one. And if we had to face the Razorbacks in combat, we are sure to lose. If I am to succeed, I would have to do so with wits and guile and a certain disdain for protocol.

There are those who think I care little for individual lives. Those mammals are fools. I did not become what I am today by throwing gold after dross. Each life is I have at my service is a precious resource. If one must be sacrificed, it would have to be done so with only the highest purpose in mind.

“Please!” Doug pleads, “I'll tell you where you can get the money I've made so far. It's gotta be close to a million by now. Just _please_ let me out of here. You... you can even turn me into the ZPD if you want. I won't say anything about what went on here...”

“We both know that is impossible,” I sigh, shaking my head. “That said, we are neither thieves nor thugs. If you wish to disclose the location of your money, we will retrieve it for you. But your life as an independent operator is over, Mr. Schaffer. I offer you two options now. You may either live out the rest of your life in that cell, or you can work for me.”

“For... for you?” he gulps, “Making Blue?”

“Not precisely,” I continue. “You see, I too am a scientist, and I understand you are a specialist in botanical pharmacology. Most unfortunate that the physiological applications of _Midnicampum holicithias_ have seen so little study, but it appears you are now the world expert on the subject.”

“You... you might say that...”

“Might? It is no exaggeration,” I smile. Truly, the best flattery is well-wrapped in truth. “The fact is, there are certain phytochemical derivatives of the Night Howler serum that I am interested in, and you have obviously done a great deal of study into their effects in order to create Blue. The performance enhancement properties in particular... I am looking to create a drug that will enhance the physical strength, stamina, and focus of a mammal.”

“That...” Doug licks the edges of his mouth nervously, “That might be possible...”

“Excellent,” I nod to Gaius and Otho, while Jacob narrows his eyes at the sheep. “Come, let us escort Mr. Schaffer into the dining room where we can discuss the details. Unless of course you would prefer the privacy of your cell...”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

 _“Are you planning on making a habit of interfering with my practice?”_ Conall's voice echoes in my mind. It'd been laced with a cold and distilled fury, like the taste of vodka straight from the freezer. _“I must warn you Agent Savage, I dislike this lack of professionalism on your part. I dislike it immensely.”_

He knows. Isaac Mohegan Conall knows that we've infiltrated his office. The question is how much he's figured out.

I sit in my car, mulling this over outside the parking lot of ZIA headquarters. In my paw I'm twirling the small glass vial, watching as the white grains roll and cling to the inner surface. Does he know we accessed Nick Wilde's patient file? Has he informed Nick of the intrusion?

If so, then Wilde and the Sanguinis would know that we know. Or at least suspect that we suspect. All the intrigues we've planned out, the hope that we could use Wilde as an unwitting double-agent and feed counterintelligence to Rufinius Frisk...

I'd spread word that we might need to search outside the City proper for Woolter. Mislead Wilde, and hopefully Rufinius in turn. When there'd been no trace of Sanguinis activity in the Canyonlands raid I'd thought it was a successful ploy. Now though, I'm not so sure.

I pull out my phone and call Elkredge. It takes several rings before he answers.

“ _What do you need, Jack?_ ”

“I think Conall knows we got into his office. We need to consider our options here.”

“ _You mean do we need to kill him?_ ”

“That's one possibility,” I say, glancing down at the vial in my paw again. It'd be easy to administer, but much too slow. If we're going to do this we need to move fast, and that's a pretty big if. “We need to exhaust our other options first though.”

We could escort him to the ZIA for... not _interrogation_ exactly, just a gentle conversation as to how much he knows and how much he's revealed. Or we could appeal to Seraphine to talk to him. They've been friends for years. She might be able to do a little probing and confirm or debunk my suspicions.

And if he actually knows what I think he knows, and if hasn't yet said anything to Wilde... well, _then_ we'll discuss more drastic measures to keep things that way, if Seraphine can't convince him to keep quiet.

“ _That won't be necessary. I was able to convince Conall to hand me the file on his own._ ”

I sit bolt upright in my seat. “What?”

“ _He wasn't happy about it of course._ ”

“So you're telling me we've had this loose end dangling for weeks!” I snap, “Conall could've told Wilde that we were looking into him. One stray word and he could've busted our entire operation!”

“ _Jack, calm down..._ ”

“Why should I? Nick Wilde is a goddamn Praetor for the Vulpes Sanguinis, and we've got a rogue element roaming the ZPD! You're not the type to make these sorts of mistakes, Miles!”

“ _Well in all fairness we didn't know how deep it went with Wilde at the time. Besides, if he_ _ **was**_ _going to tell Wilde what happened he would've gone to Seraphine with his complaints first. The fact that our nuts are still intact shows he hasn't done that. And he won't. Not with the leverage I have on him.”_

Hrmph. I should've known. I could never trust Conall completely, but Miles doesn't do fuck ups. If he's got dirt on the good doctor, it must be something quite serious.

“You could've told me,” I grunt, settling back down into my seat.

“ _You were under enough stress already,_ ” Miles replies. There's a clinking sound on his end of the line, like he's setting a glass down. “ _Besides, we all have our secrets, Jack. You just think yours are the only ones that matter._ ”

“Am I really that self-centered?”

“ _After all you've been through? I think you have a right to be._ ”

I hang up, and sit back for a moment to gather my thoughts. Even though we've caught Woolter so much had gone wrong. The Blue epidemic is now officially over, but in its place more hydra heads are sprouting.

I'm so goddamn exhausted. Ever since I accepted this mission I've been tired all the time.

Hopping out of my car I make my way to the great concrete titan that is ZIA headquarters. I swipe in with my ID card, pass through the security checks. For a while the security guards and agents had been engaged in a broad prank after word broke out about the surveillance video: eggplant-themed mugs, desk toys, and even pillows in the break room had been kept in full public view just for me. Now though they've tucked it all away, and a more somber mood hangs over the workspace.

In a perverse way I kinda miss the joke. I could use a laugh right now, even if it's at my expense.

I wind down the corridors, passing by Agents and tech workers alike. They give me small, polite greetings, not expecting me to respond. I'm grateful for that. Bunnies are supposed to find comfort in their friends and families, in fluffles of other rabbits or in the arms of their lovers.

I've never known what any of that was like.

When I reach the infirmary the nurse checks me in, and she guides me to the room.

I barely recognize her, with the oxygen mask and IV drip. She's so perfectly still, in a state deeper than sleep: lingering on the threshold between life and death. Her fur's grown dull, her cheeks are sunken. Those eyes that are always so bright and laughing are shut, though somehow there's a tightness around the edges, like she can still feel the pain.

This didn't have to happen. She should've had someone with her, another Agent to stay on the lookout. A partner would've been able to get to a payphone and alert us as to what was going down. If only Seraphine... if she and Bogo hadn't cut my resources to put Lionheart and the entire fucking City Council under a protective detail... maybe she wouldn't be laying in front of me in a medically induced coma.

I'd tried telling them it was a ruse. That the assassination attempt and the deliveries of black roses had been an attempt to sow chaos and hide the fact that something bigger was going down. I've been studying the Frisk's tactics for years, gotten to know their style of doing things...

Well, one thing's for sure. With the Vulpes Sanguinis pulling this kind of bait-and-switch, Rufinius is alive and directing these affairs. Having that much confirmed at least is a victory.

I climb up to the seat beside the bed and sprawl out onto the sheets beside her. The blankets smell so flat and sterile, and the lights are so dim. Reaching out I rest my paw on hers.

Can she smell me right now? Can she hear my voice?

“Skye?” I murmur. “Skye, your funeral is tomorrow, so don't worry. No one outside of the ZIA knows you're still hanging on. No Praetors will be looking for you. You'll be completely safe from the Sanguinis. So you gotta hang on, okay?”

Sniffling, I scrub the wetness from my cheeks. God, she really is the only one in the world who can make me feel like this.

“I'm supposed to deliver your eulogy. So... you know, maybe if you wake up you can tell me what you want me to say. Make it a real tear-jerker. Or- no, I know you better than that. You hate it when other mammals cry over you, right?”

But Skye can only lie there, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, pumped into her by a machine.

 _Who did this to you, Skye?_ I wonder.

Whoever it was I will hunt them down, and I will _end_ them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Come on guys you didn't really think I'd kill Skye, did you? ;)
> 
> I'm finding that one of the hard parts here is managing the pacing. Much of what I'm interested in writing is the evolution of interpersonal development, but once the action rolls up things can change rapidly. Benjy for example, learning that Nick's a Sanguinis, is deffo gonna be going through a lot of inner turmoil and figuring out his exact reaction, how it develops, and how to express it in a believable and efficient way is tough.
> 
> It's also becoming very apparent to me considering some of the comments and critiques that I'm getting that I should've been much more explicit when describing the power balance between the ZIA/ZPD task force and the Vulpes Sanguinis. One common complaint I've been getting is that the VS is overpowered. Truth is, I actually took some pretty detailed notes when I designed them regarding their relative numbers and resources. However, since I'm publishing things chapter by chapter I never found the right time or place to introduce those details. Another issue is the fact that since my primary goal in this story is to write about tension and intrigue, I have a tendency to hold details close to my chest unless I feel it's absolutely necessary.
> 
> Problem is I've been thinking about "necessary" as "how well it serves the chapter" rather than "how well it serves the narrative arc as a whole." Given the reactions I'm getting it's apparent to me that I've made a mistake by intentionally keeping too much below the surface. Since I can hardly go back and re-edit chapters to rectify this, I decided to insert a bit into Rufinius' complaints here about having lost two Praetors in the firefight with Doug, and that he considers these losses a rather frustrating waste.
> 
> Now obviously I should've been able to work in the following into the story, but at this point it's a little too late in the game to ease these into the narrative naturally (again: the nature of chapter-by-chapter publishing means I can't exactly re-edit my earlier work... seems kinda gauche). So I'm gonna clarify a bit more here on the logistics of the relative operations: For a city-state like Zootopia (assuming the population of about 5-10 million at a minimum) we can probably expect about 5-10,000 ZPD officers spread across the whole city. ZIA Agents on the other hand are an elite force of spies generally for foreign operations, so their number hovers more around 200.
> 
> Jack's task force has about 20 Agents on his task force, about 100 ZPD officers, and in a pinch can call up around 60 Razorbacks (Zootopia's elite urban SWAT team). The Vulpes Sanguinis on the other hand has 25 Praetors, about 20 goons he liberated from prison, and a smattering of other connections throughout the City. So in terms of raw force, the Sanguinis are going to lose. The problem is that the ZPD/ZIA are generally constrained by legal procedure and protocol, while the VS are way more flexible. Jack has been pushing the limits of things though, and in a couple instances has gone behind the Director's back as we've seen, because he knows that playing it straight will not work with Rufinius.
> 
> Additionally, unlike Jack Savage and his task force, Rufinius has spent years plotting and preparing his return, and set up a series of nested plans and contingencies with tactics to deal with the situations he predicts will happen. I wrote him with the intention of being the ultimate manifestation of a sly, cunning fox: highly intelligent and a master of misdirection and deception, as well as manipulating mammals into mental traps. He's basically the ultimate Machiavellian.
> 
> This is why even though the ZPD/ZIA task force is quite competent and capable of quick, clean victories when they do come across baddies (such as the raid we saw last chapter), the Vulpes Sanguinis are masters of guerilla tactics: striking in unexpected places and mostly getting out before the larger force of LOEs gets them. Tactically and numerically, the ZIA/ZPD task force is much stronger. It's just that strategically, Rufinius has the upper paw.
> 
> In the grand scheme of things they've had two major operations (the raids on Sheep compounds), so the way I see it they haven't been given much opportunity to show us if they really are all that invincible or not. But really, I could've and should've laid out the logistical capabilities much earlier on in the narrative itself. Live and learn. I'll explain other things a bit more in the notes of the next chapter.


	25. Lies And Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc Conall has a session with Nick, Judy and Nick get some roof time, Jack visits Skye.

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

“I'm fine.”

A cool smile plays across Nick Wilde's face. He's been like this for our entire session: calm, collected, at peace with himself, at least on the surface. You could almost believe he was all right. Indeed, if this'd been our first session together I would've said his time in this office could've been better spent elsewhere, yet I know for a fact that there are many layers to Nicholas Wilde, that one must peel them back one by one to get to the truth.

“Have you been sleeping well?” I ask.

It's such a simple question... so innocuous for most mammals. Yet Nick's ear twitches involuntarily, and I can see the strain around his eyes. He knows he's given himself away.

“Nick?”

“I've been... having dreams. Not bad ones really, just... dreams about my dad,” he takes a deep breath. “They're kinda nice actually. I'd be laying my head in his lap on a bench, it's a hot summer's day. We're under a tree, and the light flooding between the leaves just speckles across my vision. He puts his paw on my head and...”

Nick swallows, looking down at the floor.

“And it makes me feel like everything's gonna be all right.”

“It sounds very peaceful,” I nod. “And yet you find them disturbing?”

“When I wake up, yeah,” Nick says in a low murmur. “It's a bitch, isn't it? Your subconscious gives you everything you ever wanted, and the alarm clock just takes it away. I just wake up to this gray, dreary morning and it feels like I've lost him for the second time. I'll never see dad again... not the one I used to know.”

Nick sighs. “He was just so... nurturing. Positive. He fought _so hard_ to be the best fox he could be! He tried to do _everything_ right! But it just... it's not _fair_. I'd thought I'd come to terms with it, but...”

Nick trails off, and reaches for his cup. He takes a sip of tea and stares into the mug, contemplating.

“What do you think triggered this relapse, Nick?”

For a moment a twinge of fear crosses his face, but he hides it quickly.

“I wouldn't call it a relapse, Doc. It's just...” his mouth curves into a placating smile again. “I'm fine. Really.”

My office proper has a small bar nook and sink, where I can bring the used teacups and saucers for washing. I am quite tidy by nature, so such little conveniences are essential for indulging my habits. Yet the spare office Chief Bogo had been able to loan me has no such amenities. I had accepted it without complaint, knowing the minor issues I would have to endure. I will have to bring the mugs back to the cafeteria two floors down to get them cleaned.

For the moment however I merely arrange the cups and the tin of biscuits at the corner of my desk, and leaning back in my chair I mull over the session. I had smelled nothing on Nick: no strong emotions whatsoever. There was only the earthy musk of fox, and even that had been a little off.

I understood his charade of course. With the scent mask pills he'd been taking he knows that he wouldn't be advertising his feelings as he normally would. Appearing as if he were completely untroubled was simply essential for keeping his attitude consistent with his lack of pheromones.

Yet I hadn't excelled in my career as a therapist on my nose alone. Wilde was good at muting most of the minute ticks and stutters of a mammal who was lying, and indeed a less astute mammal would likely have fallen for it. I would have declared him completely well-adjusted and sent him on his way, with the suggestion that his time in my office would've been better spent elsewhere. As things stand now, the only thing he had gained from this session was the ability to go back to Judy and tell her that I'd given him the all-clear.

Well, at least Agent Elkredge won't be able to blackmail me for further notes on this session. I simply hadn't bothered to take any.

I do not take it personally that Nick had to resort to lying, even with the relationship we've so carefully built these past few months. Nick Wilde trusts me to protect doctor-patient confidentiality. Yet there is a difference between confidentiality and secrecy. The former is protected by the ethics of my profession. The latter is not.

I detest secrets. They tend to breed like flies in carrion, and they create a hideous mess in the end.

Folding my paws in my lap I begin to meditate on the broader issue I'm facing. When Agent Savage so rudely interrupted my evaluation of Officer Kaplan he had quite the interesting reaction when I probed him. By the momentary shock on his face and the prickly scent he gave off it'd been clear that he hadn't realized I had interrupted Elkredge's infiltration of my office for my notes on Wilde, much less the fact that I had willingly _given_ them to his crony.

This of course meant that Elkredge was keeping my own personal secret to himself. Which is good. Yet I cannot help but find the whole affair distasteful.

Secrets upon secrets... they make life so complicated, don't they?

I'm not sure who is more responsible for the conundrum I've been placed in. Elkredge surely is the one who ferreted out my true nature and is hanging that Sword of Damocles over my head. Yet Savage is the one who had given the order to infiltrate my office in the first place.

Well, someone is sure to die once all of this is over. If things work out with how I'm managing affairs on my end, hopefully it will be the right ones who suffer that fate.

Dangerous times are in store for Nick Wilde. Perhaps I should warn him. He is, after all, my patient.

But no. Events must play out as they will. I won't be steering the course, but surely I can give it a little nudge in the right direction.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“Nite, Benjy...” I say, waving out the window as I drop him off at his building. Benjy glances over his shoulder at me and Nick, raising his paw momentarily before dropping it to his side again. He's been skittish this whole past week, and I can't blame him. Dr. Conall really should've put him on leave after what'd happened to poor Danny. Or really, he should've known his own limits and asked for some time off himself. But no, it's that stupid pride of his isn't it?

Males, I huff. Do they all have to act so tough and stoic like that? Like the world would collapse if they showed just a hint of vulnerability?

Benjy had been skittish the whole time we've been out on patrol. Normally he prefers to drive, but today he'd insisted I take the wheel, leaving Nick sandwiched between the both of us. Not that Nick minded of course, but Benjy seemed more antsy than usual, tapping his claws on the armrest or shifting his foot. With these ears I hear everything, and the rhythmic drumming had gotten pretty annoying after an hour or so.

Nick's been growing more distant too. I've been wanting to get closer to him, but when we turn in the squad car I'm almost afraid he's going to leave me behind and wander off to the bus stop on his own. As usual though he follows me to the office to turn in the key.

He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even crack a smile. It's like he's sticking to my side out of a sense of obligation more than anything.

So before we head to the bus stop, before we can split up and take different routes to get home, I take his paw. Nick looks down at me, but he doesn't say a word when I lead him to the stairwell.

The night air is a bit nippy up on the roof, but no one's gonna hear or see us. It's definitely not the tallest building in the area either... in the distance the skyscrapers tower over us, casting their aurora-like glow against the night sky. I used to think it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen when I first came to the city, and I still do, but after a year in Zootopia it's kinda faded into the background. Nowadays I really have to look and let myself bask in the sight before I can really see how beautiful it is again.

Nick doesn't seem surprised when I take his paw in mine. He doesn't even seem nervous the way guys do when a girl wants to have a serious talk with them. His expression's just... flat. Neutral.

And that scares me.

“Nick...? I know you're not okay,” I say with a heavy breath, “And I know you don't like to talk about these things and I'm trying to, y'know, respect your privacy and whatnot. But I wanna help. I'm here for you... I just need to know what's going on.”

His muzzle breaks into a smile then, but it'd been so long since I've seen him smile today that it seems forced. He places a paw on my head and meets my eyes.

“Aww, Carrots... I'm gonna be fine, you know. Really.”

“You can't pretend it doesn't get to you, this whole fox mob family thing.”

When Jack gave the briefing earlier in the week it shouldn't have come as a complete shock. We all knew the ZIA hadn't been completely forthright after all. He'd stood up on the podium, apologized for keeping us all in the dark, and given us a concise summary about the Vulpes Sanguinis... one that was tightly edited for low-level security clearance of course.

With Agent Skye's death none of us could give him a hard time for being so secretive. Especially with those dark rings around his eyes and the black shirt he was still wearing. The poor guy clearly hadn't slept well.

But it was when he showed us slides from a raid on an old compound, lectured about incident reports on their victims and activities, that it really hit close to home.

I could feel the eyes of all the other officers in the room then, staring at the both of us. Not just the ZPD's first fox and bunny officers, but the first fox-bunny partnership most had ever seen. Our relationship was a poorly-kept secret too, and while it'd just been a few casual glances in our direction I could hear the questions rolling through their heads. I'm glad I sat on the front row then... no one behind me could see my ears going bright red.

“Like I said, Carrots...” he sighs, “I'll be fine.”

“Nick, are you worried that everyone else looks differently at you now?” He tries to slip his paw away, but I just hold him tighter. “Are you worried about what they think you do with _me_?”

“No, that's not...” his muzzle wrinkles in frustration.

“Please, Nick...”

“You don't understand. You _can't_ understand!” he snaps.

For a moment I pull back in shock. I hadn't expected his mood to escalate so suddenly, even with how prickly he could get about the subject of our species. All these months we've been together I've done my best to understand him, to be sensitive and patient. And it'd worked too. But something's happening beneath the surface now, and he's withdrawing into himself again.

The last time that happened he'd thought he had a son in Tommy Daywood. Could he be hiding something from me now? It's a scary and hurtful thought... I don't want to believe it. I want to believe that he trusts me.

“Nick...” I step forward to hug him, but he takes a step back, like he's retreating from me. “Nick, I can't pretend to know what it's like to be you...”

“You're damn right.”

He says it so sharply that it feels like a knife cut. His paw slips from mine, and for a while I can only stare at him as his eyes drop to look at the ground.

“So...” I swallow. “So we're back to this then? Sly fox, dumb bunny?”

“That's- that's not...” I can see the regret in him already: this tense, dark buzz of self-loathing around him. Nick sighs, covering his face with one paw. “I'm a _fox_ , Judy. I wish I could change that, but I can't.”

My heart skips a beat. “Whoever said... no one wants you to change! _I_ don't want you to change!”

“But this isn't _me_!” he says, gripping the front of his uniform. His eyes are wide and feral. I know Nick would never hurt me, but with the way he's baring his fangs and snarling I can't deny that I'm a little scared. “This... _this_ isn't... I _wish_ it could be! GOD, but I thought I could be happy like this, but...”

He breaks off then, and he looks away, his eyes shut tight. “I'm starting to realize this can't last. Not this,” he flicks his badge, “and not you and me.”

I stare at him, jaw dropping. I can barely understand what's happening right now. How did it come to this? I'd just been worried that he'd been a little depressed this whole time, and maybe he needs to talk to Dr. Conall for a mental tune-up. And now all of a sudden he's thinking we should _break up_?

“Nick... don't you think you're overreacting?” I say in a low murmur. “No one in the precinct thinks you're anything but a good cop. After all the cases we've cracked together, all the crimes you've stopped thanks to your knowledge of the city... I mean, you even won over Chief Bogo!”

Nick's back presses against the wall beside the stairwell door, and he gazes up at the sky as he slumps to the ground.

I remember reading about this... about predators who've suffered discrimination their whole lives. Sometimes they can get triggered by something that leads to PTSD-like symptoms. Dr. Conall would know this sorta thing way better than me... it's his specialization after all. But even without a degree in psychology it seems kinda obvious what's wrong with him.

“Nick... it'll be okay, I promise...”

He just stares up at the stars, and a shiver runs through him. It's scary when a larger mammal trembles like that... if something can scare a big predator it feels like it'd be something _really_ worrisome for a bunny.

“I'm not giving up on you,” I say, scooting in between his legs so I can lay against his chest. It's cold up here on the roof of the ZPD, but Nick wraps his big fluffy tail around me the way he always does. “I'm _never_ gonna give up on you. You just need to believe in yourself a little more.”

“I wish it were that easy, Carrots...” he says quietly.

For a moment I can only stare at him. My big, handsome fox... so strong, and so fragile too. If words can't comfort him...

I begin with slow, soft kisses along his muzzle, from the side of his cheek to the tip of his pointed nose. He doesn't respond at first, but soon the tension begins to melt from him and he kisses me back. I feel his pointed fangs brushing my mouth, and a hot shiver runs up my spine and tingles along my ears.

Maybe it's a vain hope, that I might just begin connect with him on a deeper level this way, but at least it's _something_.

He tenses when I reach down and undo his belt, and those big green eyes open wide as if to ask “ _Are we really doing this? Now?_ _ **Here**_ _?_ ” But the question's brushed aside in his mind the moment I slip my paw between his legs and begin to knead. His eyelids flutter, and his mouth opens in a soft moan.

“C-Carrots...” he whimpers. “You... you really don't have to...”

“It's okay, Nick... I want to...” I murmur, unbuttoning his shirt with my other paw. I kiss a trail down his body, fingers weaving through his creamy chestfur. Soft strokes and rubs coax him from his sheath, and I scoot down further and further...

He doesn't smell as musky as usual. Must be the cold night air. But he tastes just about the same as I lick.

“Carrots...” Nick moans, and the tension drains from him as a whole new shiver runs through his body.

 _Say my name_... I try to telegraph to Nick, even as I continue to please him. _Please, just say my name..._

“ _Judy..._ ” he finally whispers.

The night suddenly seems much warmer.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

The burnt smell of dark coffee tickles my nose.

I'm in the ZIA break room, helping myself to a hazelnut roast with almond milk and two sugars. The past few days have been a fog, and I've left most of the work guiding the task force to Elkredge. I know I should be there. Elkredge is great when planning raids or anticipating enemy movements, but the subtle and tangled mesh of intrigues that the Frisks can weave are beyond him.

Not that I've been fantastic at it, of course. Plan two steps ahead then take a third... Rufinius' infamous motto. Though sometimes I think it should've been “blow it all to shit and plan around which pieces your enemies will be picking up” should be in there too.

Skye had just been caught in the blast.

My cellphone buzzes, and I take a quick look at the text.

_We're ready._

Taking a sip of my coffee I make my way back to Skye's room. Agents and clerks alike give polite nods at my passing. The rumor mill in an intelligence organization turns with astonishing celerity, and despite the medical staff's best efforts to maintain the confidentiality of their patients word does leak out. I can't be bothered by that though... I need to focus, package all my feelings into a little ball and tie them off with a bow before chucking the whole thing into the void.

I need to be numb. Cold. Focused.

There's always something about doctors that makes me want to apologize for keeping them waiting, even if it's only been two minutes. Their time just seems so important, y'know? But Dr. Kyler just gives me a patient smile when I enter, paws folded in front of herself.

“All right, Agent Savage. Let's go over this again very quickly. We're about to take Skye off of the sedatives. If she's recovered like we hoped, she should come around within minutes. But it wouldn't be too unusual if she doesn't wake up within an hour or two. If it's a few days, however...”

I nod impatiently. The longer she's in a coma, the smaller her chances are of ever waking up at all.

“Well...” Kyler continues. “When she does wake she will be very disoriented, even frightened. The breathing tube, the catheter, the IV drips... all of it is very uncomfortable and terrifying to wake up to. That's why you're here. We need you to keep her calm.”

“She'll be fine,” I say, my voice hard as steel. They don't know Skye... how tough she can be, how unruffled even in the middle of a firefight.

“All right then, lets begin,” Kyler says, nodding to the nurse.

The nurse begins dialing down the medication on the IV drip.

I climb onto the bed, placing my paw on Skye's. She's so still, so quiet. In her time here she's lost so much weight too, and she seems so small and fragile right now. I can feel the tendons in her paw, faint pulse running through her flesh. Leaning in I try to gauge the slightest shift in her breathing patterns, listen to her heartbeat and pray that it quickens.

But the minutes tick by and nothing changes.

“Come back to me, baby...” I whisper, touching her face. “Come on, Skye. I know you can hear me...”

But there's only the drip of saline, the beep of the monitors, the hiss of the ventilator as it pumps oxygen in her lungs. Beside me Kyler is chatting quietly with the nurse as I kneel beside my fox. God, I wish they would shut up.

I blink. Did her fingers just twitch?

“Skye?” I say, giving her a little shake. “Skye please... you can wake up now. You're in the infirmary at the ZIA...”

And then her eyelids flutter. Her paw moves. Her head rolls to the side just a hair, and she begins to blink.

“That's it...” I whisper, my voice beginning to crack. “That's it, baby... you're safe, all right?”

Despite how I'd tried to strengthen myself for this moment I can feel the tears beginning to well up. There'd been so many ways this could've all gone wrong. Locked-in syndrome, or a persistent vegetative state...

Dr. Kyler stops talking to the nurse, and slowly approaches Skye on the other side of the bed.

For the next half hour or so we talk to her, try to help Skye get her bearings. She'd squirmed for a bit from the breathing tube down her throat, and her paw had trembled as she reached down to touch her legs. A T-10 fracture along her spinal cord, the doctors had said. I'd known for the past week, but having to explain it to her... that was harder than almost anything else I'd endured ever since I first got the call about what'd happened.

With Skye unable to speak we have to communicate through a tablet, with her scrawling her answers on the touchscreen. It takes a bit of practice at first... after a week of lying in a coma her paw had trembled when she first tried to write, but with just a bit of practice she got the hang of it.

“What is your name?” Dr. Kyler asks as he begins the neurological evaluation.

 _Skye_ , she writes in an almost childlike scribble.

“Very good,” Kyler says with a smile. “Now can you tell me what year it is?”

 _2017_ , she writes, a touch more smoothly this time.

“Excellent. Now, who is the current Mayor of Zootopia?”

 _Lionfart_. Despite the discomfort she's in Skye turns her head to me, her tired eyes blinking. I can almost see the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile around that breathing tube. I chuckle, and Dr. Kyler laughs softly in turn.

“All right, I suppose we can take that one,” Kyler smirks.

“Doctor,” I interrupt, “do you mind if I ask her a question?”

Kyler looks at me hesitantly. “Well, her mind appears to be intact, but I can't promise her answers will be completely lucid.”

“It's important.”

Kyler winces, mulls it over a bit, but accedes with a nod.

“Skye,” I say, turning to her. “Skye you need to tell me... who did this to you?”

She stares at me. Her eyes are heavy with fatigue, and her nose twitches at the question. Does she even remember what happened? Does she remember falling, being thrown from the balcony? Can she even bring to mind the face of the mammal who, the forensic analysis indicated, broke her wrist and beat her with a blunt instrument?

“Please, Skye... who did this to you?”

Her paw trembles as it reaches for the pad, and she begins to scrawl her response. The strokes blur into each other, crossing at angles that are slightly off. But as the letters form on that pearl white canvas the answer becomes clear before she even finishes.

 _Nick Wilde_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, so Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Just as the chapter title says.
> 
> I'm going to try to put out several chapters this week in relatively quick succession, but that means burning through the diminishing backlog I've built up that is meant to ensure consistent weekly output (I've got about five chapters ahead in storage now, down from eight). Things will be moving quite a bit faster from here on out, with certain revelations that will explain what's been going on and how/why certain decisions were made, so I won't really be putting too much in these chapter notes right now. I'll just let the story speak for itself.
> 
> Though once again I gotta say, I love writing Doc Conall.


	26. A Taste of the Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick meets vixens, a bunny meets a friendly fox, Judy gets dressed.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“No.”

The rejection isn't exactly unexpected. When in the last month has _anything_ gone my way, really? But even though part of me had known that'd be Dad's answer, I'm still pissed off anyway.

“I can't just sit back and do nothing, dad,” I say firmly. We'd moved away from the motorcycle helmets to foil-lined Trilby hats now. With those and our suits we probably look even _more_ suspicious, like Prohibition-era mobsters. Yet here in the alley behind Club Liquid no one's gonna notice us. We've got maybe five minutes to chat before I'll need to contact the Twilight Cathedral for a pickup. By then Chester would've hidden away the hats to take them back to the drainage tunnel back near my apartment.

“Nick, I realize things may seem like they're spinning out of control-”

“Things were out of control the moment I sat down to that goddamn auction!” I hiss. “Eight bunnies, Dad. _Eight bunnies_ have been sold into _slavery_.”

Dad sighs, shaking his head. He seems so deeply tired as he speaks.

“Nick, I know what you're going through. Do you think it was _easy_ for me to see those auctions? Just... standing on the sidelines while a bunch of wealthy mammals in masks bid on them like they were pieces of furniture? It _killed_ me inside.”

“And yet you did nothing about it,” I say bitterly.

“I couldn't!” Dad says, reaching out towards me with a pleading gesture. “Your grandfather forced me to leave you and your mother! So long as I served him the two of you were under his protection! If he ever learned of any treachery on my part he would've sent Smythe after the two of you. Or worse, Sebastian! All three of us would be dead and that would've solved _nothing_. What do you think will happen to Judy if the Prince learns you've betrayed him?”

“She'd probably die happy if she knew I at least made an effort to rescue 'em. I'm gonna do everything I can to hunt down every single mammal that went to that auction...” I growl. “But then new shit just keeps popping up doesn't it? One of my friends was nearly killed, Dad. And Agent Skye...”

I grip the sides of my muzzle, and I can feel the tears welling up.

“I can send a message to the ZIA, tell them what I know already, some anonymous tips.” I can't go to the ZPD itself, after all. For one, they're morons without me. For another, I know for a damn _fact_ that Rufinius has gotten to the acting DA. She did after all help secure the release of those criminals from Highwatch that're now working as Sanguinis cronies. She'd get word of eight wealthy Zootopians suddenly being investigated, and if she passed it on to Rufinius, me and Judy would be dead as Dad so helpfully pointed out. The Agents though, they'd know what was up. They'd know how to work around her. “I mean, Savage has been chasing granddad all this time, right? Maybe gramps will think that Stripes figured it out on his own.”

I'm sick of this. I'm just so _sick_ of the lying and the subterfuge and the double-life I've been leading. I'd be holding Judy's paw one moment, and the next I'd be on a bus to get to a spot where the Sanguinis will pick me up for another night of training.

I just want things to go back to normal. But they can't, can they?

Dad sighs. “Nick, there's a mole in the ZPD. And I'm not talking about the new District Attorney.”

“ _What?_ ”

My jaw drops open in shock. For a moment every familiar face I've seen flashes through my mind. Clawhauser. Bogo. Benjy. Loupin. Ramure. Fangmeyer. I wouldn't call all of 'em _friends_ exactly, but most of them trusted me. And I'd gotten to learn to... well not _trust_. Never trust a cop, even if you are one. But I'd certainly gotten to _like_ most of them. The thought that any Officer could be working for Rufinius was unthinkable.

“You shouldn't be surprised, Nick,” Dad says with a huff. “The Sanguinis are experts at infiltration after all.”

“You knew this whole time?!” I growl.

“No. Your grandfather never divulges his plans to me. I may be his Master-at-Arms, but I'm still considered too unreliable to be trusted with his secrets,” Dad says, mouth twisting as his voice lowers into a growl. “I _suspected_ , which on its own is a dangerous thing. But the past two weeks with the operations we've been running things have just been going a little _too_ smoothly.”

My mind's racing as I think back to everything that'd happened. How much of a coincidence had it been, that the task force's raid on Woolter's compound happened at almost the _exact same time_ as the Sanguinis raid on Doug's? Savage's resources had been tied up for a full assault on Woolter at that moment, which meant all eyes were on the Canyonlands instead of the Nocturnal district. The Praetors would've only had to face the less-prepared local ZPD officers when they stormed Doug's compound then, with no chance for backup from the Razorbacks or the ZIA.

So that's it then. A mole had leaked word to Rufinius as to when the raid was going down. Hell, if it was someone in Savage's inner circle, they might've even taken the hints I'd dropped and diverted attention towards Woolter _specifically_. And the Sanguinis took that exact moment to strike.

Dad must've recognized the look of shock on my face as I figure it out.

“That's right, Nick,” he nods, “Someone on the task force, or near enough to it, is giving the Prince insider info on Savage's movements. And if the mole was one of the Agents... what do you think would happen if you gave sensitive information to Savage's inner circle, and word leaked back to your grandfather? He would alert his clients, and those bunnies would disappear... either killed or hidden away where no one would ever find them. And if the Prince ever knew you were the one who figured it out... it wouldn't end well for Agent Hopps either.”

“I should've stopped it...” I whisper in horror, and I have to swallow back the tears now. “I- I could've... I...”

“There was nothing you could've done, Nick. Not with Sebastian and Brutus watching you. Now please, calm down...”

“She'll never forgive me for this...” I whimper, scrubbing my eyes with the back of my paw. “Judy... if she ever finds out...”

“I'm working on it, Nick. And you work on your end as well. But whatever you find, I just need you to sit on it for a while.”

“Gramps promised I wouldn't be doing anything illegal,” I sniff. “Nothing active, at least. Just train, observe, fuck... even just stand there like a statue while everyone else does all that shit. He doesn't _need_ me! So why? Why did I have to go to that auction? Or go to the Spire that night? _He doesn't need me!_ ”

Just the Dad pulls his Trilby hat down over his eyes. Whether it's to hide his expression or not I can't tell.

Is this just the initiation phase of being in the mob? Just having me watch and get used to the thought of being one of them? Did Mr. Big ever do this with his new initiates? No, Big was ruthless, but even _he_ had fled the City once word got around that the Frisks were returning.

All this time Rufinius has been handling me with kid gloves, getting me to dip my toe in the water but never really telling me to wade in. Yet I can feel the puppeteer's strings on me, and if only I knew which way they were trying to make me dance I'd bolt like hell in the other direction.

But I don't.

 

~~~~~

 

“You are one of us now, my boy.”

Rufinius stands behind me, paws on my shoulders. He's got a strangely firm grip for such an old tod, and when he whispers into my ear his breath tickles. It sends a chill up my spine. That dry, scratchy voice of his is less than pleasant even without it being so close.

 _I'm_ _ **not**_ _one of you_... I think to myself. I'd done what I could to sabotage the operation to capture Doug, even if that'd failed. Any more and I would've risked Judy's life.

“In recognition of this, Nicholas, I have selected three potential mates for you.”

I'd already guessed as much the moment I was taken straight to my bedroom in the Twilight Cathedral, and standing here waiting for me were three vixens.

The folds of their dresses hang low, revealing bare backs and shoulders and the soft curves of their breasts. The hemlines hang low as well, shrouding their legs with a certain mystique. Even though they're individually quite pretty and prepped for display, they're not so made-up as to look like a bunch of tarts. Instead they look statuesque, like marble busts.

“This is Aeliana,” Rufinius says, gesturing towards the red fox among the trio. She steps forward and curtsies, a slim golden band around her neck. Her mouth puckers as she blows me a kiss, teeth white and gleaming. “The most down-to-earth of your Graces, fond of modern films and music. I believe the two of you will find much in common, though if you have the need for a touch of sophistication she is a master of multiple woodwind instruments and is well-versed in Russian literature.”

“My Prince,” she says with a sharp and playful grin.

The second vixen's coat is the color of cream... she's definitely got some arctic fox in her. The thought sends a pang through my chest... this one could've been Agent Skye's sister. When she steps forward she bats her long eyelashes. Her cheeks are dusted with glitter, and they highlight her gold irises. A string of pearls graces her fine neck.

“Camilla here is a connoisseur of fine things. She can discuss the finest vintages of wines at length and their pairings to dishes, and she specializes in ballet and ancient Purrsian history. A more cerebral mate, to tickle your intellect when need be.”

“My Prince,” she says, bowing her head respectfully.

The third vixen has a brindled coat pattern, with specks of gray marbling her fur. She doesn't wear any jewelry aside from the slim gold bracelets at her wrists, apparently not wanting to distract from her naturally busy features. My eyes can't help but wander over the wild splashes of gray, black, red and white.

“And finally Tatyana. The most artistic of the three. She is skilled at painting and calligraphy, and is quite fond of Zootopia's museums in Savanna central. Indeed, I believe she can match wits with any of the curators in the City's art galleries. Though do not be fooled... she has quite strong opinions on the postmodernist movement.”

“My Prince,” she says with a coy smile, “You are much too kind.”

It's an effort to keep the friendly smile on my face. These are my supposedly-distant cousins after all, even though they're such strangers to me that it's hard to believe we're related. The idea that we share a bloodline still doesn't overcome the fact that they're kinda pretty. If it weren't for the fact that I'm still riding on the buzz of Judy and the sweet, comforting lovemaking we'd shared not an hour ago I might be sporting an involuntary chub here.

“Thanks. I really can't imagine choosing between any of them, they're all so lovely,” I say to placate him, even bowing down and taking the paw of the nearest vixen to kiss her knuckles. I'm going to have to play the courtship game, stall while I fake-flirt with each one of them in turn. I could drag this out for weeks, even _months_ if I have to while me and Dad try to figure something out.

I'm just glad he'd given me advance warning about this.

“There is no need to choose,” Rufinius says in his cool, professorial tone. “You will bed each of them in turn. On the same day if need be. You are, after all, a Frisk.”

Dr. Allister nods as she stands on my other side. “Aye, I'll be providin' fertility drugs t' help enhance yer swimmers, Mr. Wilde. And I can pharmacologically induce a heat session in each of them when th' need arises.”

The vixens smile at the mention of that. Crap. Oh, crap.

“This... this is really sudden,” I gulp.

“I am a patient fox, my boy, but I have my limits. I expect you to perform your filial duty by the month's end.” Rufinius' mouth curves into a smile. I suppose it's meant to look friendly, but he looks deadlier than ever. “Believe it or not however, I had even less opportunity to court your grandmother. And even less interest in planting my seed in her. Yet I accomplished it nonetheless.”

“But...” I lick my chops nervously, “I'm afraid I'm already a bit spent for the night. Me and Judy...”

“I am well aware. I can smell her on you,” Rufinius leans in close, nose twitching. “Quite a lovely bouquet, for an untrained doe. Once you move in permanently I can secure her for you. She will make a fine concubine once she is broken of her willfulness. You can even pair her with Pearl if you wish... one way or another, I must educate you on the subject of breeding for our franchise to continue.”

I close my eyes and try to scour the mental image from my mind. I need to numb myself to his batshit crazy proposals if I'm gonna survive with my mind intact.

It's not like there's any subtlety in his manipulation. He's dangling temptations in front of me and waiting for me to have a taste, knowing I'll get addicted the moment I bite the poisoned apple. His supposed aloofness, his measured patience... it's all to leave me thinking that he isn't actually pressuring me into this.

But dad had said it's all too simple for Rufinius. There's something else going on, simmering beneath the surface to catch me off-guard. Would they slip something into my food? My drink? The Sanguinis sure has a plethora of weird drugs, and I'd be surprised if an aphrodisiac _isn't_ on the menu.

I'm just gonna have to stay on guard. For now though, I hurry and make my goodbyes before heading home... I need get the hell away from these vixens as soon as I can.

I just need _time_.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Pearl** _

 

I'm not used to the forbidden.

I- I should rephrase, actually. That is... I've read about the _thrill_ of the forbidden: the pleasure some mammals take in crossing boundaries that shouldn't be crossed. Knowing about this sort of thing had been a part of my training. I really can't tell you how many erotic novels I've consumed about how pred-prey stuff works. For a bunny though breaking the rules means punishment, so the idea of taking pleasure in it is kind of alien to me. Dirty thrills are something that only foxes could understand or enjoy, I'd thought.

Now though I actually feel a little giddy whenever Master Nicholas gets to see me. Him being around just puts things so far out of the proper order of things I've become used to. There's the way he speaks to me, like... like I'm sitting _beside_ him rather than beneath him, if that makes any sense.

And sometimes it's in a literal sense too, not just a metaphorical one. He gets so uncomfortable when I kneel, that I end up sitting on the bed next to him. He doesn't seem to understand what that means... that there's supposed to be certain proprieties between us.

As the weeks wore on though I'd gotten more and more used to it. There's a sort of defiance in it, a dirty edge, sharp and dangerous but so sweet, that it makes me scared and excited at the same time.

Over the years I'd had to numb myself to the touches of a fox. My innocence had been a hindrance, and my trainers had said that it had to die so that the pet could live. Ever since we came to the Twilight Cathedral though, ever since I was gifted to him by the Prince, things had changed. It feels like I'd been wandering around in a waking sleep all these years, trapped in a long gray dream of rough paws and fanged kisses, of perfumed sheets and cold showers after. And it's only now that I'm beginning to wake up.

When he touches me, even though it's just a paw on the arm or a pat on the head... a hot shiver runs along my spine. I hadn't truly felt _anything_ since I was taken to bed for the first time years ago. Back then however it'd been the shiver of fear and anticipation. Now...

Now I don't know what it is.

I can feel the eyes of the Praetors on me as I browse the selection of books in the library. They had all ignored us bunnies when we were dusting off the shelves and polishing the furniture on our first arrival. If we aren't on display or serving someone actively we usually fade into the background as we go on our more mundane tasks. Now though I'm under their scrutiny.

He had given me permission to go wherever I wanted, and even suggested that I should come here. Usually when a fox gives a suggestion it's meant to be an order, but over time I had to learn that Nick really did mean that coming here was simply an option. That I had possibilities open to me, that I could choose what to do with my spare hours, is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. And being under the gaze of others doesn't help.

I already know what books I want to pick up though. Nick had told me about stories he used to enjoy when he was younger... ones that should definitely be on these old shelves. I'd collected a little pile of them and I'm holding the books in my arms when I turn around and nearly bump into the fox standing behind me.

Even though I'm a bunny and I've got great hearing, Praetors are trained to move quietly. I freeze in terror when I recognize who it is.

He wears a white suit and a dark blue tie, the latter the only thing that stands out from his snowy fur. Sapphire eyes stare down at me. Even though his gaze is bright, and the smile he wears seems genuine, I know well from personal experience that he would wear that same friendly grin whether he was breeding me over an end table or slicing someone open from neck to navel.

“Pearl,” he says with a honeyed sweetness. “I see so little of you these days. Pity, since you are such a pleasure to see.”

By instinct I force myself to relax and close my eyes when his paw moves towards me. The Smiler would often greet me by caressing my cheek with one paw, while the other would glide around my waist, slipping a finger inside as a taste of things to come. The Smiler always did say that if a bunny's hole wasn't meant for foxes, God would've given us more than a little tuft of a tail to cover it with.

Instead however the weight in my paws lessens as he picks up a book, and he reads the title to himself with no small amount of amusement. That means nothing of course... the Smiler is always amused.

“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I didn't realize Nicholas possessed such rustic sentimentality.”

He tilts his head then, and looks down at me. I lower my gaze, clutching the remaining books tight. His eyes seems to slide into me like one of his daggers, peeling aside the calm demeanor I'm trying to wear like a skin ready to be flayed.

“Or... oh my. Are _you_ reading this, little Pearl?”

“Y-yes, Praetor...” I squeak. “Master Wilde gave me permission!”

His mouth tightens, though I note with a quick flick of my eyes up at his muzzle that he's still smiling. “'Wilde' is it? He is a _Frisk_ , pet. Who told you the name you just spoke?”

“M-Master W- Master Frisk, sir...” I swallow the lump in my throat. “He... he insisted...”

“I see.”

The Smiler flips idly flips through the pages. It's an old hardbound copy with a canvas cover, the gilded lettering on the spine beginning to flake away. With PawPads and the digital books the Praetors read now the library's hard copies are relics from a different time. No one had even bothered to touch them until I came along.

I know there are more complex stories to be enjoyed. More dramatic ones, in film and television. But there's something about Mark Twain's stories that reminds me of simpler, sweeter times. It's a peek into a world of right and wrong, of easy victories and no real dread.

A world that I can't be a part of.

“Well,” the Smiler says, placing the book back on the pile I'm holding. “So long as you have his permission.”

He turns away from me then, and I take it as a cue that I've been dismissed. Yet I haven't taken half a step before he speaks over his shoulder.

“Oh and Pearl? Don't be so nervous. You're Nick's pet now, and that means I have no right to touch you. To be afraid of me is to imply that you think I'm crass enough to violate someone else's property. Another mammal would find that insulting.”

His ever-present smile widens. “Just a friendly warning.”

Holding the books tight against my chest, I head back to Master Nick's room.

My pace begins to quicken the moment I step out of the library. I walk faster, then faster still, until I'm nearly running down the hall. A bunny clinging to a Praetor's arm has to step aside with a squeak, and the fox blinks in surprise when he sees me scurry past. My pulse leaps into my throat as I stutter out a rapid apology, and cold fingers wrap around my heart in a crushing grip. I'm going to be punished. Worse, my Master will be punished for my impropriety.

I'm fueled by sheer terror now, when I finally arrive at the solid oak door. I turn the handle, closing it shut behind me the instant I step through, and once I'm safe I collapse to my knees. Only then do I lose control, sniffling and trembling like a kit.

“Pearl?”

I turn around, and for an instant when I see that pointy red muzzle I flinch, expecting a black paw to shoot out and grab me by the ears to drag me to my feet. Even his soft tone and sad eyes don't soothe me, until I feel him holding me gently by the shoulders.

“Hey, it's all right...” he says in a low murmur, nudging my arms apart so he can take the books from me. I'd forgotten I'd been holding them this entire time. “Come on, you can relax.”

Master Nick had taken off his jacket, and his tie is tugged loose. He guides me over to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and when I lie down on the sheets he pulls me over, resting my head in his lap. My ears flop over his thigh, a warm and heavy paw cups my cheek, and the other strokes my tummy. It's warm and soothing, like being in the arms of a mother.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” he whispers. “It's okay to say no.”

I shouldn't say anything. Speaking out always brings trouble, but refusing to answer is also not in my nature. For a long moment I struggle with the two competing thoughts, and Master Nick must've felt my tension because he sighs then and shakes his head.

“Nevermind. You don't have to answer.”

For a while I lie there, with my head in his lap and his paw on my head. We don't speak. We don't really do much of anything except rest there, until I begin to calm down.

When I finally begin to calm down I roll over in his lap, so my face is buried in his crotch. He just tenses as I breathe deep, inhaling his scent. He's rebuffed every one of my attempts to do my duty, refused every offer to please him like a good pet is supposed to. I've only just tugged his shirt up and licked his tummyfur, there along the beltline, when he pushes me away.

“Hey... hey come on. You don't have to do that,” he murmurs.

“Please, Sir...” I say, looking up at him. I just want things to get back to normal. I just want to stop thinking, stop worrying, stop being so afraid. A simple existence following the rules, of hard certainties of what I should and shouldn't do... that's all I want now. Before he came along I'd had to walk a narrow path, but it at least made sense. It made things easier.

Not everyone can be comfortable having choices. Not everyone can toy with the forbidden.

But then he cups my chin, and lifts me up to meet his eyes.

“You're safe here,” he murmurs, before planting a kiss between my ears.

Somehow, I believe him.

Without a word he reaches into his pocket, taking out a snack bar in a foil wrapper. A Carroty Yum-Yum, Maple Sugar Flavor. Despite my hesitation to break the rules, even this one, my tail twitches eagerly.

His muzzle breaks out into a smile then, as I take the bar and unwrap it. The smell of carrots, sweet and earthy and buttery and nutty all at once, is like a whiff of heaven. I eat it slowly as I usually do, try to savor each bite.

When I finally finish he takes the wrapper and tucks it into his pocket while I scrub my mouth with the back of my paw. Though my training is telling me I should undo his belt and please him, looking up at his tired smile I begin to think I already have.

Master Nick... he just wants me to be happy. And somehow when I realize this... things don't seem nearly as scary as they used to.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Six in the morning. Bright and early as usual, though I hadn't slept well last night.

I miss Nick staying over. I miss falling asleep with his arms around me, his breath tickling my ears. I miss the smell of him, earthy and warm. He isn't as much of a morning person as I am unfortunately, but usually I can manage to get him up just to shower with me at least. It feels so good being able to lather each other up... kinda romantic, the way we'd just half-explore half-enjoy the feel of each other. It'll still be a while before I get used to the shape of him against me, but in the meantime it's so fun to feel every muscle and joint hiding beneath that red fur. He's been filling out quite a bit, too.

For now though I'm on my own, and the shower feels so empty without him. Just as well I guess... I'm still feeling tender down there. I can take him in if we go slow, and he's always really gentle about it. The anticipation adds a lot to it too, but it does leave me pretty sore the next morning.

I'd known what I'd gotten myself into though. Or to put it more accurately, I'd known what'd gotten into me. And for a little while there'd just been the warmth, the feeling of him pulsing inside me and the prick of his fangs on my tongue as we kissed, open-mouthed and licking each other.

Of course, trouble was neither of us had expected things to go that far, so without our Musk Mask at the ready we'd had to sneak out of the precinct stinking of sex. But it'd been worth it. We'd scurried to the bus stop, paw-in-paw, giggling like teenagers over what we'd just done. And for a few sweet moments Nick had forgotten his worries in the warmth of my body and the taste of my mouth.

He was still smiling at me when I got off my stop. “ _Pick you up tomorrow, Carrots_ ,” he'd said, waving me goodbye. But I could see the strain and worry just beginning to creep in again, around the edges of his bright green eyes.

 _Oh, Nick_... I think to myself as I begin to dry off. I'd hoped he'd learned to trust me more by now. Conall had said that foxes needed their privacy, but ever since the whole Shepsfield thing he'd been improving. He'd begun to talk more openly.

There were still some topics he'd dance around of course, some things he'd just hint at. Minor things, really. Or he was just trying to poke fun at me by making a minor problem seem bigger than it really was, just as one of his weird pranks. Like, I'd get spooked by a sudden look of dread on his face and he would suddenly tell me, “My God... I forgot to pick up mustard,” when I began to panic too. And then he'd break out with his smug little grin.

But for the past month something's changed. Ever since we started working on this task force he'd been different. More... _dark_.

I continue thinking it over as I step out of the shower and towel off. If Nick were here he'd have flopped back onto my bed, still slightly damp, so he can air-dry while he gets few more winks in. Me though I sit down and aimlessly browse the net while I warm up my morning tea.

Maybe I should just quit the task force. We could ask Chief Bogo to go on leave again, just for a little while longer. After everything we've been through I'm sure the Chief would grant it.

Sure it'd be giving up a pretty big career opportunity, but I shouldn't be greedy. Becoming a cop... _that_ had always been my dream job. Who cares if I won't be doing the high-profile stuff right alongside the ZIA now? Catching the bad guys, protecting the civilians, keeping order in the City... _that_ helps make the world a better place too.

Nick would protest of course. He might even worry that I'd resent him for putting me in a situation where I'd have to choose between his mental health and my career. Hrmph. If he thinks I'd get a burr in my tail over _that_ he really needs to learn a bit more about what it means to be a Hopps. Besides, I've only just started my career at the ZPD. There'll be plenty of opportunities in the future.

That's it. I'm doing this. Heck, maybe we can even stay through to Howloween in Bunnyburrow...

It's 7:00 when I hear the knock at my door.

Smiling, I wrap the towel around me as I go to answer it.

“Hey Nick, you're pretty early tod-”

The door swings open, and I look up to two pairs of golden eyes I've never seen before. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, I clutch the towel tighter around my middle, my gaze darting between the two mammals standing in the hallway.

“Um, wh...”

“Please get dressed, Officer Hopps.” My eyes widen as his paw tightens around the handle of his dart gun. “You're going to have to come with us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter notes, spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I had to rework the first section a few times, and I'd gone through about three iterations before I was satisfied. I hadn't meant to reveal (or really, make more obvious) the possibility of a mole present in the ZPD until much later, but some people needed more answers as to why Nick couldn't act immediately to leak details to the ZPD/ZIA. The acting district attorney I don't really count as a mole, but she's definitely under Rufinius' influence (remember about 20+ chapters back the previous DA had to resign because he refused to play along). There've also been a couple instances where Rufinius had inside knowledge on the ZIA Task Force.
> 
> Now the fun part is to figure out who it might be.


	27. Fox Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack pays Nick a visit, Judy has a chat, Nick feels sad.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“It sounds like he's... banging on metal.”

Adrienne looks up from her laptop, one paw on her headphones. She's unsure of what to make of it. Something is obscuring the vent where she'd planted the camera, and whether that means Nick is onto us I can't be sure.

That filthy Frisk bastard. For weeks I'd had him under surveillance and found nothing. I never heard the gossip, even with these ears, but I knew the other Agents were whispering behind my back. “ _Savage has gone off the deep end,_ ” they were saying. I'd become paranoid. I was wasting precious time and resources. Sure I'd had a positive DNA test, but the rest was just a hunch. The forensic evidence was circumstantial at best. Something to be flagged certainly, but not something that deserved the level of nigh-obsessive scrutiny I'd given it.

That'd all changed when Lenny sniffed out the fact that Wilde was wearing a scent mask. Finally we had solid proof that Wilde was a Praetor. But Director Seraphine _still_ wasn't taking me seriously. She _still_ refused to provide the Agents, equipment, and support staff I needed. It's unbelievable that she'd still be reserving so much of the ZIA to protect the City Council when every bit of evidence has made it _clear_ that Frisk isn't going after them.

I mean what, did she think he planned to take over the City by force? Rule it when there are well over ten thousand ZPD officers to contend with if he ever staged an armed coup?

Still, at least the Agents on the ground started to believe in me. My plans to feed Wilde misinformation had been moving forward. Now, I'd thought, we had an unwitting double-agent to help us catch Rufinius.

All of that was finally legit, up until he tried to murder Skye.

“Alpha Team,” I say through the mic, peeking out of the van window towards Wilde's house. Alpha Team's black ZIA van has just pulled up, and they slip out from the vehicle like shadows. Three wolves, medium-sized mammals and expert scent trackers, form the primary assault team. Bravo Team is checking out the side exit, while me and Charlie are on reserve.

“ _Alpha Team here. We're ready to move in_ ,” Lenny answers. I can tell from his tone that he's grinning. The guy does enjoy some occasional work in the field.

“Remember boys, Wilde has to be taken alive,” I remind them.

“ _Keep moving and take cover when you can_ ,” Miles says on the line. He's a part of Bravo team. “ _It's quite possible we may have Sanguinis snipers in the area_.”

“I ran an infrared scan,” Adrienne reminds him. “I haven't seen anything in a three-block circumference.”

“ _You can't be too careful._ ”

“Adrienne,” I say, looking up at the monitors, “Bring up a view from Alpha's body cams.”

With the mist and the scheduled rainfall pouring down on us, the drones would've been rendered inoperable within minutes. With air surveillance out of the picture we'll have to use the next best thing.

“Move in,” I order, and my gaze flicks between the monitors and the window to the view outside, where six Agents descend on the house.

The sound of wood splintering rips through the speakers as Lenny's teammate kicks down the door and the three members of Alpha rush in, dart guns ready. They storm into a living room where a heavyset bear looks up sleepily from a massive sofa, before he jolts fully awake. In the next instant though the green feathered ends of a pair of tranquilizer darts are sprouting from his neck, and he slumps almost comfortably back into his seat.

Thanks to Skye's earlier infiltration we have a rough idea as to the layout of the house, and Lenny's team makes a beeline for Wilde's basement bedroom. Again one of the wolves kicks open the door, and from the body cam feed I see Wilde standing there. For a split second it's almost like he's staring at me through the camera, and that triumphant smirk on his face is for me and me alone. But before the Agent can bring his weapon to bear Wilde lifts the wrench he's been holding, and brings it own on one of the pipes.

“ _AAAAUGH!_ ”

The wolf Agents yowl as they're blasted with a thick spray of steam. The banging metal Adrienne had heard earlier... he'd been fiddling with the fucking pipes- setting up his defenses. All I can see on any of the body cams now is a thick white fog, but beneath the cries of shock and pain there's a lighter thumping sound.

“Alpha! Alpha are you all right?!” I shout into the mic.

“ _I smell him!_ ” Agent Lupini yelps, “ _He's headed to the front door!_ ”

“ _Bravo moving to secure the target!_ ” Miles snaps. On the second set of monitors and from my view out the van window I can see Miles' team circling around from the side.

“No! No it's not him!” I try to warn them. I'd recognized the thumping. It was too rhythmic, too even, and died off too quickly to be natural footsteps. Lenny's the first to stumble to the front door. He growls, confirming what I'd suspected.

“ _It's a tennis ball. A fucking tennis ball coated in artificial fox scent._ ”

Letting out a string of curses I fling open the van door, gesturing at the rest of Charlie Team to come join me. In an operation a tenth of a second can mean life or death, and whether your quarry escapes or is caught. And we've already wasted far too much time with Wilde's distractions.

“Trust visual confirmation only!” I tell my teams through he headsets. “You hear me?! Wilde is ghosting with a scent mask, so you won't be able to sniff him out! Trust visual confirmation _only_!”

I race ahead of the rest of my team and bolt down the hall with my tranq gun drawn. The wolf agents' fur is fluffed out from having shaken themselves off, and they're prowling through the house, throwing open doors haphazardly trying to figure out where the fox might be hiding. On instinct though I rush straight to his basement apartment and push through the thick white fog.

It's not hot steam, thankfully... just mist from one of the pipes that helps regulate the humidity in the Rainforest District. It's filled the room from floor to ceiling, and I can barely see two inches in front of my face.

Could Wilde still be in here? Is he ready to murder me right here, right now? I should've called for backup, but in my haste to get the fox I'd thrown caution to the wind. This whole operation had collapsed into a shitshow the moment we lost the element of surprise, if we ever had it in the first place.

I try to focus, to filter out the footsteps of the other agents hammering along the floorboards upstairs. Wolves and other preds might be great scent trackers, but a bunny lives or dies by his sense of hearing, and so I try to detect his breath, to pick up a trace of his heartbeat...

My ears perk up. There. A rustling sound.

I stumble towards one end of the room, trying my best not to run into any of the pipes snaking along the ground. When I finally reach the window and see the pinpricks of starlight in the distance I poke my head out. Looking down I spot a red fox twenty feet below me. He's got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and he looks up at me, green eyes bulging. His paws are clinging to the mass of loose ivy, and he's clambering down as fast as he can.

“Son of a-” I snarl. “I found him! He's climbing down the side of the cliff!”

Just then I hear the sound of heavy footsteps from a larger mammal, and glancing behind me I see Benjy Kaplan storming towards me out of the mist like a hulking beast from a horror film. His shoulders are broad as a barn door, his paws clenched into tight fists like little boulders. His eyes are narrowed in fury, and when he looks out of the window beside me his roar rips through the morning air.

“It's fucking true! Isn't it, Nick?!” he snarls. “Give up for Judy's sake! I don't wanna have to hurt you!”

“Sorry, big guy!” Nick yells back, panting as he tries to climb down even faster. “You know I love ya, but things aren't gonna turn out that way!”

The ivy is too thin to support Kaplan's weight, so with a growl the tiger reaches down and grabs it, ripping up fistfuls of plant matter and dragging the bundle of vines back up.

Wilde yelps, still clinging to the plants as he's rapidly being pulled towards us, but swinging off to the side he grips onto another bundle on the wall of ivy that Benjy can't reach, and continues to scramble back down.

“Kaplan,” I say, interrupting the tiger's furious growl. “Tell Elkredge to get Bravo and Charlie to drive down to the neighborhood below us, I'll pursue and provide guidance.”

With that I hop out the window and slide down the vines alongside Wilde.

The fox isn't in top physical condition, and he hasn't had as much pursuit or survival training as I've had. I've had to brave the jungles of Brazil, climb the sides of skyscrapers in Dubai. I've rappelled down the sides of frozen cliffs in Norway and gone rock climbing in the West. Despite his head start I'm rapidly catching up to him.

The moment he lands on the ground I turn to face Wilde. Clinging to the vines with one paw I draw my firearm with the other, and fire two shots. Yet even as Wilde runs he spins mid-step, holding up his duffel bag. The darts strike it instead.

Cursing, I continue to clamber down as he flees out of my firing range.

The moment I land I bolt down the street after him. White-hot rage fuels me as I give chase. This the the mammal who'd tried to murder Skye, who'd thrown her off a balcony and left her for dead. With him weighed down by the bag and weaving back and forth to avoid getting shot, I'm catching up quickly. Rows of older houses and tall trees fly past me in a blur, and as I close in to within ten feet I raise my gun...

But then Wilde hooks one arm out as he leaps, grabbing a lamp post. The momentum carries him around it in an arc, and before I can skid to a halt he's done a complete one-eighty, spinning back towards me with the duffel bag in paw.

Nick kicks out at me, and his heel slams into my ribs. My mouth drops open as the breath's knocked out of me, and my lungs are stunned by the blow. My sidearm goes flying, skittering across the street. The pale fingers of dawn are just beginning to light up the sky as I spin in the air, and when I land with a heavy thud another set of stars bursts through my vision.

There's no time to rest though. Reeling, still woozy, I pick myself up just as Wilde closes in. Panic sets in. Even though he's just a novice Praetor, a total neophyte to the deadly paw-to-paw combat techniques of his ilk, he's still a fox with millions of years of bunny-hunting instincts deep down inside. He can easily overpower me unless I act fast.

Reaching into my jacket I unholster my gun. My real gun, with live ammo. If I can just hit him in the arm or leg, just-

Wilde swings the duffel bag out, knocking that too out of my paw. I stumble back, barely able to keep my balance between his attacks, when I feel his breath on my face and something stabbing into my middle.

“Ghk!” I gasp.

Hard green eyes stare down at me. Trembling, I look down to see the tranq dart sticking out of my stomach. One of the two that I'd fired into his bag. His paw releases it as I stumble back. I can already feel the sedative settling into me... a dose of barbituates heavy enough to take out a mammal four times my weight.

With a shaky paw I pull it out from my body, and it clatters onto the concrete. My legs are giving out from under me. My head's spinning.

“B-Bravo... Charlie...” I gurgle, clutching my middle. “I've been tranq'd...”

“ _We're coming!_ ” Elkredge says through my earpiece. “ _Just hold on! We're tracking you by your cellphone!_ ”

“Well... if the other Agents are closing in I'd better make my escape,” Wilde says, smirking down at me. “Just one thing though...”

He buries his fist in my gut.

The punch lifts me off of my toes, and I make a retching sound as my middle gives in. My vision's beginning to blur when my body slams into the ground for the second time.

“Hrmph. Not such a hot shot after all.”

I can only watch as he runs off down the street and turns on the corner.

Shit shit shit. There are enough drugs in my system to keep me from breathing. My heart might even stop from a dose this big. Instinct and training trump my panic though, and my paw reaches into my pocket. As the world begins to slip away it feels like someone else is biting the cap off of the injector. It's like it's another being controlling my arm as I raise the stick into the air, bringing it down into my leg.

A flash of stabbing pain, and for a moment the world goes black.

When I wake up it's like consciousness has just hit me with the momentum of a freight train. I spasm with a massive jolt and a sudden gasp. Cool morning air fills my lungs, and my brain buzzes with the influx of fresh oxygen. I take another breath, and another, ribs aching as my body screams at me to keep breathing until I'm lightheaded. My heart beats at a new, terrifyingly rapid pace as the stims pump through my system. Not exactly a cure for such a heavy tranquilizer dose, but it'll keep me alive for at least fifteen minutes until a medical crew can get to me with a proper antidote.

Reaching into my jacket pocket I take out another stim pen, just in case. One is already putting a ton of stress on my system. Two might just kill me. But I need to track him. I need to follow Wilde.

Stumbling down the street, my paw still clutching my stomach where a pinprick of blood is beginning to wet my shirt, I round the corner just in time to see Wilde toss his duffel bag into one of the sky-tram carriages before he climbs in. If memory serves, that one should take him down towards the Marshlands. He doesn't even see me as he ducks into the carriage, no doubt curled up and hiding himself from any jam-cams that might be aimed in his direction.

That dumbass.

“ _Jack? Jack, are you all right?_ ” Lenny says.

I rub the side of my skull as I groan into my mic. “Lenny... Wilde's on one of the sky-trams. He's headed down, likely towards the Marshlands.”

“ _We're on it. We'll be able to pick him up at the next stop._ ” Miles reports.

I slump against a lamppost. With the cocktail of uppers and downers blasting through my system it feels like I'm on a heavy caffeine rush after two days without sleep.

“And have Adrienne drive down to my position...” I groan. “I'm gonna need some medical attention.”

 

~~~~~

 

Five minutes later I'm lying on a makeshift cot in a ZIA van, my arm hooked up to an IV drip to neutralize the drugs in my system. My head's beginning to clear, and I'm munching on a candy bar to help carb up a bit. The stims have the side effect of burning through your energy reserves, and I'm gonna need a fresh influx of calories to keep my blood sugar up.

Adrienne's actually a pretty great driver, but with the roads being what they are in the Rainforest it's a bumpy ride to rendezvous with the others at the next sky-tram stop. Those things aren't the fastest means of public transport, but they cut through a lot of the bends and curves and uphill-downhill climbs that are so prominent here.

Luckily for us it's just past dawn so the streets aren't crowded. That, and Adrienne's remotely activated one of her bits of custom software. This one hacks into the traffic control system so we've got green lights the whole way. Not exactly legal, but you gotta do what you gotta do in this line of work.

We pull up to the curb next to the sky-tram stop, and climbing to my feet with a groan I pull the needle from my arm. Extra side benefit of being a small mammal, the amounts of medication we need are much lower, and a 20-milliliter dose was all I'd needed, though I'd needed to squeeze the bag a bit to get it in me faster.

When I roll open the door though I see the tram surrounded by Agents from team Charlie along with Miles. Officer Kaplan is reaching into the carriage grabbing at the perp, but for all the commotion it causes he seems more annoyed than anything. With his grip tight around the collar of Wilde's hideous Pawaiian shirt and his face buried in the other paw, he drags the fox out of the carriage as Miles looks on, shaking his head.

We got him. We finally caught the bastard.

For some reason though as they approach with Wilde in tow, the pair don't look happy. It's only when they're right in front of me that I see why.

Kaplan's gripping the fox by the back of his shirt, and he dangles in the air like a naughty kitten being held by the scruff. He's pantsless, curled up into a little ball, and he's got his arms and legs wrapped around a large, greasy cucumber. His wide, terrified eyes are blue rather than green, and he looks to be in his late teens, early twenties. At least ten years younger than Wilde.

“Who the hell is this?” I say in a low, icy tone.

“Chester Pratt,” Kaplan groans through his fingers. “I know him. Guy works at an improv comedy theater Downtown, but he's got a few arrests on record for public indecency with a traffic cone.”

“Solves one mystery. Wilde's been using a body double for the surveillance cam this whole time,” Miles grunts in disgust. “Him and this little slut look damn similar from a distance.”

“I'm not a slut!” Chester protests, clinging to the cucumber even more tightly.

“You're right,” I say, standing up straight and poking the fox in the nose, “Sluts give it away for free. This _whore_ we've got however has been paid off for his services. And he's going to answer our questions if he doesn't want to get thrown into the same cell as Greasy Carl.”

“Oh no, Mr. Rabbit. Please don't throw me into the Briar Patch,” Chester giggles. “Sorry Agent Stripes, but I don't kiss and tell, and I'm not about to snitch.”

“That kinda threat won't work on him,” Kaplan says, shaking his head, “Frankly, I doubt this guy has any internal organs. He's just one long fox-shaped tube.”

“We're wasting time!” I snap, “Every moment we stand here is another that Wilde uses to escape!”

Kaplan's expression hardens, and he raises Chester in the air until he's eye level. All of a sudden the fox begins to tremble, and the cucumber slips out of his grip and lands onto the pavement with a wet thump.

I turn away in disgust. The little freak's been sporting an erection this whole time, but under Benjy's gaze it's beginning to recede.

“Spare me thirty seconds, Agent Savage. And I'd like what I'm about to do to stay off the record.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“I... I don't understand.”

When the two Agents brought me in they'd told me to put on something comfortable. I'd come in with a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt along with a light jacket, but now I really wish I'd come in wearing my uniform after all. A layer of body armor would make me feel much safer right now.

“Officer Hopps, I realize this must be confusing...” Agent Bearington says, trying his best to keep a gentle tone.

“This isn't _confusing_. It's... _crazy_!” I protest. “Nick isn't some mobster, all right? He's... he's just... _Nick_!”

Bearington sighs, shaking his massive head. “Hopps, the evidence is heavily stacked against him. We've got his DNA proving he's related to known Sanguinis operatives. And we've even got an eyewitness who identified him in an instance of attempted murder after he was seen in the proximity of a major Sanguinis operation.”

“You're gonna need more evidence than that if you're going to convince me,” I cross my arms over my chest. “I want to talk to Agent Savage.”

“I can't allow that, Hopps. I'm sorry, but for the moment we're going to have to hold you here.”

At first I just tilt my head, nose twitching as I try to understand what he's saying exactly. But then it hits me, and I sit up straight in shock. My ears go rigid, and I stiffen from the base of my skull down to the tip of my tail.

“W-wait. You're _detaining_ me? I haven't done anything! According to Article II of Zootopia's Civil Code...”

Bearington puts up a paw to silence me. “I'm well aware of your civil rights, Hopps. But I'm afraid that doesn't apply here. It's no longer a simple case of a domestic drug epidemic-”

 _Simple_ case?

“-the central government of Zootopia has just been threatened by a terrorist organization, and operations to fight it fall under the broadened investigative powers of the ZIA under the State Security Act.”

“I don't see how that applies to me.”

“Don't you?” Bearington says, raising an eyebrow. He opens the folder in front of him then, browsing the contents. “Several months ago Nick Wilde committed what we're now calling the Shepsfield Conspiracy. With the aid of unknown accomplices, he lured Shepsfield into attacking him, thereby securing the arrest of a highly controversial figure. A figure who, apparently, attacked the son of an old acquaintance and lover.”

“Wh... how did you...” My heart's beating at a rapid pace. He knew. The ZIA _knew_. And if Bearington had any doubts about what he'd just said the look on my face must've given it away. I'm not like Nick. I can't hide my feelings the way he does, I can't lie...

And that's when it hits me. I... I can't lie like him. Because that's what Nick does, isn't it? He's an expert at deception. It's been his career for the past twenty years.

“Then just weeks later Shepsfield is murdered in prison, with no witnesses among the prisoners or he guards. I'm sure by now you know that the Vulpes Sanguinis employs expert assassins. Ones that can easily infiltrate Highwatch. Or failing that, they hired someone on the inside,” Bearington's eyes narrow at me then. “But the relevant part for the moment is the role _you_ played. You yourself confessed to Chief Bogo that you had leaked the CCTV footage that swayed public opinion against Shepsfield.”

As terrified as I am of everything he's saying right now, Bearington's thinly veiled accusation doesn't impress me. “What, do you think I'm involved with the Vulpes Sanguinis too?!”

Bearington sighs. “Hopps, you can't deny that this looks bad.”

“I leaked that video because I felt that Shepsfield was getting away with assault! If Thomas Daywood had died he would've been getting away with _murder_!”

“Look, let's say you've... _inadvertently_ aided in a Sanguinis operation. Well, you wouldn't be the first one. The fact is I'm not here to accuse you of anything, I'm trying to get you to understand that right now Wilde is a dangerous mammal that needs to be captured. And if that's to happen we're going to need your help.”

It couldn't be. All this stuff... it's just circumstantial evidence and hearsay, isn't it? And DNA tests can get messed up, so it's... it's not like...

But then I remember Nick's recent moodiness. The way he's been acting so oddly. Any other mammal would never have noticed it, but me and Nick have gotten so close that I can't help but recognize the signs. He's been acting the same way he had when he was setting up Shepsfield: just... grim and depressed and worried sick all the time. All those nights he'd refused to sleep over, I thought he was just going back home or drinking. But now there are too many parallels, too many signs pointing in one direction.

The tears begin to well up then, and I scrub my eyes.

“I... Nick... he wouldn't...”

Agent Skye. It'd be murder, wouldn't it? No, it's absurd. Nick wouldn't hurt a fly. _Literally_. He's a vegetarian for God's sake!

Just then my phone rings. This whole time it's been sitting on the table, and just as I reach for it Bearington blocks me with his massive paw. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a small device and connects it to the micro-USB port of my phone. Some sort of monitoring device, I suppose.

Only then does he present the phone to me.

“Answer it, Hopps.”

I hesitate. The screen says it's an unknown number, but if it's Nick then surely I'd be giving the ZIA a way to hone in on him.

“Answer it, or I will.”

My paw feels numb as I reach for my phone, and I fumble, almost dropping it as I swipe the screen and hold it up to the side of my head.

“Nick?” I say. My voice comes out strained and pitched.

“ _H-hey, Carrots..._ ” Nick says in a creaky voice, like he's close to tears. “ _The ZIA's with you, aren't they?_ ”

I look up at Bearington, and he gives a nod.

“Y-yes.”

“ _Good... that's- that's good. Stay with 'em, okay? The ZIA are gonna protect you._ ”

“Nick, they're... they're saying a lot of crazy things about you,” I sniffle. I can't help it now. Warm, wet trickles are beginning to run down my cheeks, faster than I can scrub away.

“ _They don't have the full story_ ,” Nick sniffs on his end, and his voice finally cracks. “ _Carrots. Judy... I- I had to do it. Please understand that I had no choice. If I said no they... they would've..._ ”

A choked sob cuts off his words.

“Nick...” I cover my mouth with a trembling paw. “Nick, please...”

“ _I love you, Judy. Don't come after me._ ”

“Nick? Nick?!”

I pull the phone away and look at the screen. Nick had just hung up.

Bearington looks at the device still connected to my phone, at the digital readout it's providing. Taking out his own cellphone he dials. My ears flick towards him, and I strain to hear who's speaking on the other line.

“ _Please tell me you've got good news, Bearington._ ” I recognize the voice as Agent Savage's, but he sounds so tired.

“We've got him, sir. He's in Happytown.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

I hang up and press my forehead into the phone booth's plexiglass barrier.

The Sanguinis had warned me that Savage was coming. They'd always been a couple steps ahead, and kept the ZIA under observation even while the ZIA was watching me. Probably thanks to that mole they seem to have. I'd only just gotten word when I switched places with Chester and was about to settle in for breakfast at my place.

When I happened to see him heading to the same sky-tram I'd been hoping to escape on I'd realized that that wouldn't have worked, and had dodged into the foliage to hide and think things through. Imagine my surprise when a still-conscious Jack Savage stumbled down the street ordering his Agents to go after the poor guy.

I really hadn't wanted Chester to take the fall for me, but what choice did I have?

Once the Agents left I had the time to find the nearest manhole and slip through. Good thing I had a crowbar in the pack.

My old clothes... Pawaiian shirt, purple tie, and brown slacks, have been discarded in a trash bin nearby. I'm wearing my Sanguinis three-piece suit, a dull brown to help me blend in, and with kevlar fibers woven through in case I get shot at. Hopefully here in a neighborhood full of foxes I'll blend in long enough that I can figure out what the hell to do now.

I sigh. That's it then, isn't it? It's over. They always say that guys'll eventually become their fathers as they get older, and I really hate how spot-on that old trope is.

I'd tried to do the right thing. Tried to live on the straight-and-narrow just like Dad, but a collection of misfortunes and innocent and not-so-innocent fuckups had ultimately pushed me down this road.

Now that I've got some space I can decide which turn to make: do I turn myself in, probably get jailed or killed by that crazed rabbit? No, Dad had implied that Savage would probably lock me up at some ZIA black site, try to use a little “enhanced interrogation” to get some answers regardless of my willingness to provide. And if I survive Savage's sessions of not-torture maybe, just _maybe_ I'd get a chance to explain myself enough that Judy won't hate me. Maybe the ZIA will protect us. Or maybe Rufinius will see it as a betrayal and have Judy killed. Or maybe he'd go after her family. Or Mom.

On the other paw I can message the Sanguinis, have them pick me up. I could go into hiding like my Dad, become a Praetor for real. I'd have to toss a bone to those three vixens waiting for me of course, though I'd have to give up any hope of seeing Judy ever again. Maybe Pearl can help me forget my worries. He's got violet eyes, just like Judy. And maybe if I dim the lights, drink in the smell of bunny... well, maybe he might just _feel_ like her too...

I step out of the phone booth and straighten my foil-lined Trilby hat, looking like a proper gent. The Sanguinis won't be able to contact me.

Two paths to choose from, even though every decision I've made so far has ended in disaster. Mammals have gotten hurt, others have gotten killed. I can't have that on my paws again, not now. Maybe just this once I'll just leave it up to fate to decide what happens. See which side gets to me first.

Straightening my jacket, I head down the street.

Catch me if you can.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter notes ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I really love writing action scenes. It's great thinking about body positions and flow and pacing, and how much one or the other party can take.
> 
> You guys may have noticed that I've kinda based the Nick-Jack relationship somewhat on Rem289's version of the two, where Nick kinda hates Jack's guts out of pure jealousy, though I upped Jack's hostility towards Nick a lot more. So Nick punched Jack in the gut for very obviously flirting with Judy way in the beginning of the story, just to get his lick in. At the time though Jack was just trying to milk her for information, but Nick doesn't see it that way of course.
> 
> I should also note that Nick doesn't actually want a fight with Jack, doesn't wanna kill or maul him or anything like that. The thought that the tranq dosage might kill Jack was just something that hadn't occurred to Nick in the heat of the moment. And no, this little snafu won't lead to any nasty repercussions, if anyone's worried. Jack is too humiliated from getting beaten up by a fox to report it.
> 
> Also, the only reason Nick was able to get one in on Jack in this situation is because Jack has been badly stressed and sleep-deprived for several weeks now. Secret Agent Bunny is sadly not bringing his A-game.


	28. You're My Prey Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack pursues Nick, Rufinius shares some wine, time for a little swim

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

The van zooms down the street at full speed. Adrienne's little script had given us a clear path to the Downtown area, and we're zipping along with a string of green lights ahead of us. If we put on a police siren we'd be able to move even faster, but that'd alert every goddamn Praetor within half a mile.

“ _Benjy, don't tell me you_ _ **believe**_ _this! The ZIA doesn't have any_ _ **real**_ _evidence!_ ”

Though Kaplan's got the phone pressed to his ear I can hear the conversation on her end with perfect clarity. There's a tremor in her voice, a wetness in the back of her throat like she'd been crying. Now and again Judy makes a small snuffling sound.

“I was _right there_ , Judy,” Benjy says firmly. “Nick attacked three ZIA agents who were coming to arrest him. He actively evaded capture! _And_ he attacked Agent Savage!”

“Bastard caught me by surprise is all,” I grumble under my breath. Well, that and sleep deprivation.

Even though he's raising his voice slightly with each sentence, Benjy's speaking with a calm that's uncharacteristic given what I'd just seen from him not five minutes ago. The way he'd gripped Chester, growling in that low, murderous tone and demanding information on the foxes who'd nearly killed his brother... that and a little public property damage to emphasize the point, and it'd terrified the little fox to the point that he'd started gibbering about old sewer tunnels almost immediately.

Kaplan asked for thirty seconds. In truth, he'd only needed ten. After that little talk of theirs we tossed Chester in the back with a pair of pawcuffs on his wrists.

“And you know Nick's been using Chester as a body double? Yeah, Chester!” Benjy continues. “Apparently that's how he's been fooling ZIA surveillance!”

“ _But... you_ _ **know**_ _Nick. This isn't_ _ **like**_ _him!_ ”

“I want to give him the benefit of a doubt, Judy, I really do. If he gives himself up... I'm willing to listen.”

Benjy's trying to sound placating, but by the way his paw tightens on his knee I suspect he's lying. By the look of it he's about ready to twist the nearest fox in half. It's no wonder Chester's been so meek back there.

“ _Benjy... Benjy,_ _ **please**_ -”

I lean forward in my seat and hold my paw out, looking Kaplan in the eye. He blinks, but he takes the hint and passes the phone over to me.

“Judy? This is Jack,” I say, putting the phone to my ear. “I'm sorry. I really, truly am. But the Nicholas Wilde you knew is a lie. We know he's in on this because Skye identified him as the one who attacked her.”

“ _Agent Skye is_ _ **alive**_ _?!_ ”

“Barely. The doctors only just took her out of a medically induced coma yesterday. The moment she woke up she was able to identify Wilde.”

“ _A_ _ **coma**_ _?! But- wouldn't she have been on painkillers? Or it could've been brain damage, or she could've just been confused-_ ”

“Officer Hopps...” I'm trying to speak as gently as I can, but when she says that about Skye I can't help but let my tone sharpen into a dangerous edge, “I've known Agent Skye for a long time, and she has one of the most disciplined minds I know. She would never accuse someone if she wasn't completely certain of her own thoughts. You need to come to terms with this, because we are going to need your assistance.”

“ _A-Agent Savage... Jack... please-_ ” Judy chokes. I wince, hearing the pain in her voice. The last thing I'd wanted to do was hurt her. A lot of the secrecy and caution I'd exercised in dealing with Wilde was for the sake of operational security, but I'd also wanted to help spare her just this sort of pain.

In truth however, it'd been inevitable. It'd always been inevitable.

“I want him to be taken in alive as much as you do, Judy,” I say firmly, “But if the Sanguinis can pick him up before we do, we'll never be able to recover him. If he's as innocent as you think, he won't stay that way for long in Frisk's paws. The Prince will break Wilde. He will _brainwash_ Nick. And when the ZIA does encounter him again, he'll have changed. The fox we meet then... we'll have no choice but to use lethal force. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“ _Y-y-yes..._ ” Judy chokes.

There. She finally accepts it.

“Now Agent Bearington was able to trace his last phone call to you from a payphone in Happytown,” I sigh, “That neighborhood is lousy with foxes, so he'll be able to blend in almost perfectly. Do you have _any_ idea where he might be?”

For a moment Judy's quiet on her end of the line. She's making soft, snuffling sounds, and when I'm about to try coaxing her into helping us again she finally speaks.

“ _Nick- he grew up in Happytown. But there's only a few places that mean anything to him, really. His mom's living at their old house, but there's also a bridge he hangs out at sometimes. And... the tailor shop. Well, it's a bakery now, but his dad used to dream of opening up a tailor shop..._ ”

It takes a few minutes for her to figure out the addresses, with some help from Agent Bearington and a street view on Zoogle Maps via his laptop.

“Thank you, Judy. We'll do everything we can to bring him back unharmed.”

They key word there, of course, was 'try.' Nick was sure to resist, and I'm going to have a great deal of satisfaction in taking him down.

“Teams Alpha and Bravo,” I speak into my mic, “Did you hear that?”

“ _Confirmed_ ,” says Lenny.

“ _Loud and clear_ ,” says Miles.

“Good. Alpha will investigate his mother's house. You won't have a warrant, but convince her that it'll be in her son's best interests if she complies to a search of the house. Bravo, you take the bridge. We'll take the bakery.” Wilde's psych profile implied he was the sentimental sort, so the guy probability of him being in any of those locations is pretty high. With his daddy issues, my bet is on the site where his dad had wanted to open up his tailor shop.

“ _Got it_ ,” the both of them reply.

“And remember, capture is our number one priority. When you get to those sites you'll have to split up to cover more ground.”

“ _Heh. Famous last words._ ”

“We've got no choice, Lenny,” I say, “Right now Wilde is the closest we've got to capturing a live Praetor for interrogation. Over and out.”

I can feel Kaplan's eyes on me, and I turn to face him. He looks concerned.

“Agent Savage... do you mean to join the search? Maybe you should sit this one out and direct us.”

I rub my stomach where Wilde had stabbed me with that tranquilizer dart. Granted I'm still feeling a little woozy, but I've had worse while still in the thick of a mission.

“I'll rest easy _after_ we get Nick Wilde.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

“We've lost contact with Nicholas.”

I swirl the cabernet in my glass as I pore over the report that Doug has provided. I am no biochemist, but I have a sufficient understanding of mammalian physiology to understand the results of his experiments. Everything is looking quite promising already... he had after all done the bulk of his research on the matter long before the words “Night Howlers” were on anyone's tongues.

The wine is from a younger bottle, though it's still well-developed. It is sharp with the exotic scents of red fruits and earthy with the smell of graphite and pencil shavings. It reminds me of my youth in the Mauseille countryside. I can still remember the scents of the vinyards and berry bushes, the long summer days spent sketching beneath the trees. Such innocent times then... I could bathe in this aroma and the nostalgia it elicits for hours, if not for the work ahead of me.

“Thank you Rhona,” I say absentmindedly to the good doctor. With all the Praetors spread across the City looking for Nick, it is left to her to keep me up to date.

“I would've thought yeh'd be more concerned.”

Rhona leans against the table, and I glance up from my papers without moving my head an inch. After years of caring for my health she's grown to have a familiar manner with me. I suppose it came naturally to her, this former country rustic who had never bothered to even try and shed her thick brogue. Yet where she lacked in sophistication she made up for with an earnest and gentle manner. In some ways she'd become the daughter I'd never had, nor truly ever wanted. An impressive feat for an outsider without a drop of Frisk blood in her veins.

She was a diamond in the rough, one that my operatives had noticed by mere chance. Foxes always had an uphill battle getting into medical school, something that Sebastain well knows. It was only through Sanguinis influence that she'd been able to secure her education.

“I've accounted for this eventuality, my dear,” I say. My operatives know how to keep a level head in a crisis such as this, but even they became unnerved when they encountered my sense of beatific calm over this matter. Rhona herself is shifting her weight now, mouth tight.

The last we'd heard, Nicholas had just bested Jack Savage in combat. No small feat, especially for a novice Praetor. Yet the moment he went into the sewers his signal was blocked, and for a while yet we will not be able to contact each other by radio.

Rhona sighs. “Well, I suppose t'was inevitable. Yeh don't get t' dance with th' devil an' act surprised when yeh find yerself a few steps closer ta hell.”

I look up at her over my sheaf of papers. “My dear Rhona, have you considered writing poetry?”

She smiles momentarily, then sighs. “Still, the poor tod dinnae have ta get uncovered so quickly,” Rhona says, wrapping her arms around her body. “I never should've given him those scent mask pills... I always did think that might give 'im away when he's around a bunch o' sniffers all th' time.”

“You followed my orders to the letter. That itself makes it the right decision.”

“But it wasn't as if 'e was gonna be runnin' stealth missions!” she protests. “All it did was produce eccentricities in 'is scent that the ZIA could pick up on! And taking 'im ta observe operations... it just left 'im exposed.”

“You act as if that weren't precisely what I wanted.”

Rhona blinks and stands up straighter. “M' Prince?”

“If Nicholas is to be my protege, it will take much more than simply legitimizing his bloodline by decree,” I say, folding my paws in my lap. Rhona and Sebastian are the two I trust most in the Twilight Cathedral. It truly is a pity they had been unable to bear kits together. “And it will take much more than a little exercise and shadowing our operations here and there. Nicholas has _years_ of dedicated study before he has a chance of becoming the next Prince. Such a duty is simply impossible in this City.”

“So 'is trainin', then...” Rhona muses, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Served another purpose entirely,” I nod. “I have given him a few hard restrictions yes, but aside from a few threats and monitoring his movements I have allowed him an astonishing degree of freedom. I have issued no overt shows of force, made every accommodation to ensure that my orders do not make him to betray his current loyalties too much. Indeed, if I'd brutishly _demanded_ he choose sides he would've learned to resent me. He fears me yes, and he may still attempt to undermine me in small, subtle ways. Yet he doesn't _hate_ me enough to push me away outright.”

I gesture to the cabinet where the glasses are stored, indicating that she is free to help herself to this cabernet as well. A shared drink always tends to smooth the conversation. It'd taken some doing to educate Rhona's palate to wine. As if to make a show of her training she swirls the glass and holds it up to the light to admire the coloration and flow, before sniffing and taking a small sip.

“Binding Nicholas to me is different from how I dealt with his father. Jacob was vulnerable then. He and his family were under assault from outside forces, and he saw me as his only possible savior. But Nicholas has no enemies. At least, not the sort of enemies that beset him from all sides. He has many friends as well... ones that could shield him.”

“So yeh set him up t' fail...” Rhona's mouth curves into an appreciative smile. “Yeh gave him th' scent mask, had him come out to observe... all knowing that there were cracks in th' plan. That 'e was gonna get caught eventually.”

“Very much so,” I say, taking a moment to regard her carefully. Rhona has a keen mind for academic matters, but her sense of guile had always been lacking. Has my planning been too transparent, I wonder?

“It is all a wonderful confluence of my interests, isn't it?” I continue, “That Jack Savage himself would be tasked with hunting me down? That Nicholas had become a ZPD officer by now?”

The moment Jack Savage saw Nicholas that obsessive little rabbit would've surely recognized the familial resemblance to the tod that killed his mother. Agent Savage could've then acquired a DNA sample easily, and from then on put Nicholas under surveillance. I had no ability to know for certain how the situation would play out, but the traps and snares for Nick to fall into were limited to a few possibilities. All I needed was to plan for those contingencies and keep our responses supple.

Of course, I hadn't expected the whole incident with Agent Skye to end as brutally as it had. A dangerous mistake, that... allowing it to happen. Jack Savage would be out for blood now, and he would be far more unpredictable as a result. And my plans hinge on being able to anticipate the moves of my opponents.

Still, in some ways pushing him a little closer to madness may be exploitable as well, if I am careful.

“And so bit by bit Nicholas would stumble in hiding his new links to the Sanguinis. And as the ZIA learns more, Savage will turn Nicholas' friends against him,” I swirl the cabernet in my glass. The smell of red currants and graphite fill the air. “His social circle will crumble, he will become increasingly isolated. Even that little rabbit he is so smitten with would have to see him in a new light. And here we are now... with my poor grandson bereft of friends, surrounded by enemies. Betrayed by those he loved, even though I hadn't given him a single order to harm anyone. All the mistakes that got him in trouble are his own.”

I allow myself a rare, toothy smile. “He cannot blame me for putting him in this situation. On the contrary, he will see me as his protector and savior.”

“Just as Jacob had,” Rhona breathes. “Most wise, m' Prince.”

“Thank you, Rhona.”

“Though... how did yeh know 'e wouldn't have risked it all? Simply betrayed yeh th' first night yeh let him free from th' Twilight Cathedral?”

“My dear Rhona,” I chuckle, “Have you read the psych report from Doctor Conall? A tod as damaged as he is simply is incapable of trusting the authorities, even if he wears the same uniform now. Besides... he is a Frisk. Subterfuge is in his blood.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

I run my fingers along the books on the shelf, their spines rippling against my pawpads as I walk by. With so many physical bookstores being shuttered these past few years it's always nice to see a library again, even though it doesn't quite have the same feeling.

Dad used to love hanging out here. Ever since I was a kit he'd bring me to this library in our neighborhood. It was no wonder then that right across the street he'd seen the empty storefront that he'd wanted to become his tailor shop. Our tailor shop.

I can imagine him now, browsing the newspapers and magazines in the small lounge section. Maybe he'd look out the window, and there across the street a “For Rent” sign behind classic Victorian-style windows. Maybe he'd glance over at a ten-year-old me as I flipped through books in the Young Adults section, and the idea gets in his head.

My paw lingers on the old Moosebumps books, all 62 of 'em shelved in order. I really had to give it to the librarians that they were this meticulous. I used to love this sort of kiddie horror... it was always about fantastical things: swamp monsters, haunted dolls, blobs of sentient jelly with mind control powers. Stine never wrote about anything real. The kits in the books never had to deal with dead fathers, abuse from their peers, drugs or poverty or crime. They were stories you could use to escape your own shitty life just for a moment, with delicious chills that you knew could never be real.

If only us adults could escape so easily.

I pull out a random book from the shelf... The Terror At Deerbrooke Lake. Why is it horror writers always set their stories in rural podunks or glossy suburbs? The moment I begin to flip through it though I notice one of the librarians, an aging raccoon, shooting me suspicious glare.

Well of course. An oddly well-dressed tod wearing a Trilby hat, hiding in the corner of the kiddie section of the library? I must look like a total perv.

A sense of disgust and embarrassment replaces any nostalgia I'd just been feeling. I put the book back on the shelf, and just as I'm about to leave I see an awfully pissed-off bunny in a black suit walk through the door.

Holy crap how did he shake off the tranq that quick?

Jack Savage picks up a newspaper without even looking at it, rolls it up into a tube, and holds it over his body. For a moment I wonder if he's _actually_ thinking of batting me across the nose with that, when I notice that his other paw has crossed his chest and slipping beneath his jacket, where his gun holster should be. The paper's just supposed to be a distraction.

Oh god I hope he's just holding a tranq gun.

Ever flip a coin while trying to make a decision? Maybe you're just trying to choose whether to go for Thai or Italian. See the new action flick or a comedy at the theater. Or heck, do you stay in, or go out? Maybe it's even for a decision as monumental as what major you wanna choose in college.

Thing is, you don't flip the coin to let fate make the decision for you. You flip it because the moment it lands, or even when it's still up in the air, you realize that your choice is gonna be taken from you. In the instant of clarity that follows, you know what you want in your heart. When it finally lands, all that's left is to either be satisfied that the coin's just confirmed the decision you'd already come to, or to tell fate to fuck off.

Him walking in through those doors was the coin landing, and with the murder burning in his eyes I come to realize that I really don't want to be shot by Jack Savage. If it were any other Agent I'd probably surrender happily to 'em, but after what'd happened to Skye I know that Stripes here is out for blood.

I carefully I slip through the nonfiction section. There's a fire exit at the back, but that'd trip the alarm. Frantically I look for the nearest teenager, a skinny little fox about fifteen years old. His headfur is dyed purple, and he's wearing a black hoodie along with that cold, serious expression kits his age always try to pass off as looking tough.

“Hey kid,” I whisper, “wanna make fifty bucks?”

He gives me a funny look and takes a step back. “Hey man, I don't do that shit.”

“Wh- no! I need you to make a distraction. Now take it or leave it.”

Keeping my voice as low as possible (I know from personal experience how good bunny hearing could be) I do a bit of quick negotiation and pass him the folded bill. Circling around the perimeter of the section alongside books on New Age crap and pagan religion, I try my best to play it cool as I pretend to read a book on Roman gods.

Just then the fire alarm sounds from the back of the library, and I see Jack's ears perk up. He bolts straight for the emergency exit.

I take the opportunity to head calmly towards the front entrance as that same raccoon librarian dashes past me to turn off the alarm. Once I reach the street I try to keep it casual as I make my escape. Maybe I'd run into Elkredge, or Packard again to give myself up. Packard wouldn't be too happy after I'd hosed him at my place, but he's always seemed like a fairly chill guy. Not the type to plug me on sight.

Just as I reach the next block though I hear the distant scuttle of tiny rabbit feet from afar. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes widen as Agent Savage barrels towards me.

“ _FREEZE, WILDE!_ ” he snaps, holding his gun in his paw.

Okay, he _says_ that, but his choice of weaponry kinda makes me feel I should do otherwise.

I take off at a terrified sprint, as Savage takes up the pursuit. I have to dodge past a vixen and her kit, a pair of possums out walking their iguana, and duck as a beaver construction worker carries a wooden beam into a yard. I miss the clearance by perhaps half an inch, because the beam knocks my hat clean off. The beaver accidentally steps on it as I keep running, the foil crunching beneath his foot.

My head now bare, I hear a click as my earpieces reconnect.

“ _Mr. Frisk, trying to contact Mr. Frisk..._ ” the vixen on the other end says. “ _Is that you, Mr. Frisk? We've been trying to get in touch for the past twenty minutes._ ”

“I had to go through the sewer tunnel,” I say quickly, which is half-true. I'd come out of the sewers just after I evaded Savage the first time, but I'd been wearing my foil-lined Trilby then, to make sure the Twilight Cathedral wouldn't be able to get in touch.

“ _What's your location? The Praetors have spread out over the city to find you._ ”

For a moment I debate whether I should play it straight or just lie, when I hear the ping of a bullet striking the garbage can I'd just dodged around. While kevlar might be bullet-resistant, a hit would still sure as fuck hurt.

“Happytown!” I yelp, “Three blocks East of the local library!”

For a moment there's silence on the other line as the vixen on the com, before she pipes up again.

“ _Continue heading East. A small team will meet and recover you on the other side of the Manchacori River._ ”

Perfect. With a drawbridge just another block away I have a chance of shaking this crazed cottontail off my ass. As much as that smug bastard pisses me off, I'd gotten my lick in with that gut-punch. Besides, I can't just let him get gunned down by the Sanguinis.

Among all that Praetor training Dad had given me on how to deal with different mammal species, I'm suddenly glad that he'd trained me to deal with rabbits. They're fast, but they originally evolved to evade pursuit, so they aren't built to chase quite as effectively. Most important thing to remember though is that while their legs are exceptionally powerful, their spines haven't developed to withstand the force of their own jumps and kicks.

“ _If a rabbit leaps at you,_ ” Dad had told me, “ _all you have to do is get it to jump into a wall or spin and pistol-whip him at the right angle, and you can snap his spine easily._ ”

So really, as fit and fast as Jack is, he just isn't quite as built to chase perps down in some ways. Kinda reminds me of that story of how well Duke Weaselton evaded Judy through Little Rodentia. I'll definitely have to give her some pointers on how to keep from being killed in a scurry.

It also turns out I've timed things perfectly. Just as I see the drawbridge a ship is beginning to approach. Racing onto the bridge I take the sidewalk, earning a good number of confused glances from the waiting drivers as I rush past. The concrete and steel beneath me let out a soft groan as motors rumble and turn, but I keep running as the ground begins to rise, tilting at an incline that's growing steeper with each second.

My legs are burning. My lungs feel like they're on fire. But I continue to race along, try to push past that barrier and hit the high of pure endorphins. I'm not the most fit fox out there. Hell, I came in last on physical evals in my graduating class at the Academy. But if both of us are gonna live I need to do this.

I leap off the end of the rising drawbridge, across the still-growing five-foot gap that's just formed, and land on the other side with my torso hitting the edge of the bridge. My feet dangling, my claws scraping at the metal, I struggle and pull my butt over and roll down the other side, panting. There's a commotion from the bridge's operator booths, and a pig pokes his head out the window. He shakes his hoof and yells at me for making that crazy jump. Despite his tantrum though he hadn't stopped the drawbridge. He couldn't, not with the slow cargo ship that needed to pass under.

With a sigh of relief I pick myself up and begin to limp away, when I hear another yelp from the other side.

I turn around, just in time to see a white rabbit in a black suit flying over the gap. His arms and legs are cycling, and when he lands he does so gracefully on his feet. There's no stumble or roll: Jack Savage just uses the momentum and the decline to race towards me fast as a bullet.

“Seriously?! The old Emergency Exit trick?! You thought that'd fool _me_?!! _I could hear your heartbeat from a block away!!!_ ”

It's too late. Just as I turn to run his tiny body slams into mine, sending the both of us rolling in a pile of fur and very expensively tailored formal attire. Somewhere in the middle of it I'd made a grab for his gun, and though we struggle for a moment my superior strength as a fox wins out, and I rip the pistol from his paw and toss it aside. When we finally roll to a stop I tense up as I feel cold metal clap around my right wrist.

Blinking, I stand up and raise my arm, holding it out as far from me as possible while I grip the bridge's safety railing with my other paw. Jack Savage dangles from it, the other end of the cuff tight around his own wrist. He's scowling and snarling, twisting as he swings back and forth like an adorable little ball of feral rage. He is _pissed_.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” I say in flat disbelief at the little rodent hanging from my wrist. “You _do_ realize I weigh like four times as much as y-”

Savage doesn't give me a chance to finish. Swinging up and hooking one leg around my arm, he kicks me straight in the face with the heel of his other foot.

 _ **Wham!**_ The world explodes in multicolored stars. I think I just felt half my teeth loosen in their sockets.

I'm normally used to Judy being soft and plump in all the right places, though she's got a nice amount of muscle too. But Jack... there isn't much that's soft about him. Not that I can feel at least. He's just a bunch of hard elbows and fists and feet and knees trying to hammer into me.

At first I'm ashamed of the fact that I now have to use a full show of force on him... after all I've been through, all the crap I've taken from mammals who thought they were better than the slimy, shifty, untrustworthy fox, beating the shit out of a bunny rabbit after I've already defeated him once feels like bullying. _Especially_ with that whole “natural enemies” thing I'd been trying to grow out of these past few months. Turns out though that Savage with all his crazy ass ZIA Agent combat training is more than a match for me.

Even though I'm not looking to kill him, I _really_ want to hurt this little long-eared bastard right now. And I only have once chance of doing that.

Stumbling, bleeding from my nose and mouth, my skull ringing from his punches and kicks, I press up against the guard rail and, taking a deep breath, I let myself roll over.

The terrified squeak that Savage lets out is supremely satisfying, and his frosty blue eyes widen in shock as we plunge twenty feet into the water below.

The moment we hit the river I feel him thrashing, trying to claw his way through the twisting currents that send us spinning through the blue-black depths. The water is ice cold, and the chill stabs through my body like a thousand needles. The weightlessness and flow pushing us downriver are disorienting, but once I judge what direction's up and down from the stream of bubbles trickling from my nostrils, I start swimming deeper.

Bunnies have a higher metabolism, after all. They'll burn through oxygen twice as fast as a fox would, and if I keep calm he'll pass out from oxygen deprivation long before I do.

At first I feel desperate yanking at my wrist, the hard edge of that metal pawcuff biting through my fur and chafing the skin beneath. But I continue to drag Jack Savage down with me, staying just a few feet below the surface. If he drowns he's only got himself to blame for cuffing us together like this.

But then I feel him spasm. The tension on my wrist goes slack. Wait, it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds or so. Is he already at his limit? Yet when I look up at Savage the silhouette of his body, dark and still against the morning sun above us, looks so much like Judy for a moment that I start to panic.

Immediately I turn around and start paddling back towards the surface. My lungs are burning, my cheeks puffed out with a breath I'm desperately trying to hold in. I'm getting lightheaded, and the moment I break the surface and breathe in the sweet, crisp air it's like drinking in life itself. Pulling Savage's limp little body up against me I cradle him against my chest as I tread water for the both of us.

His mouth is half-open, revealing his tiny buck teeth. His ears have gone limp, and they drape over my shoulder like a wet towel, sodden and limp. I try patting his cheek a with my paw.

“Hey... Agent Stripes. You with me? You gotta breathe. You gotta...”

And then his eyes snap open. Oh shit he's been faking this whole-

With a crazy ninja-flip that only a bunny can do he's somehow gotten onto my shoulders, and he's squeezing his thighs tight around my throat. This crazy little asshole is choking me, like he doesn't care if I drag him beneath the water again so long as I drown first.

“You tried to kill Skye...” he snarls, starting to pull on my ears. I want to scream in pain, but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle.

And then, despite the pain ringing through my scalp, the water in my ear canals, and the violent yanking distorting the sounds around me, I hear a low roar like the sound of a motorboat. All of a sudden I feel a yanking sensation at my collar. The both of us are lifted out of the water, and we're thrown in a wet heap onto the deck.

As I blink the water out of my eyes, waiting for my head to clear, I look up to see an arctic fox in a snow-white suit smiling down at me, his cheerful blue eyes more giddy than I've ever seen.

“No...” Jack pants in horror. He searches his clothes for something, anything to use as a weapon, but all he's able to come up with is what looks like a pen.

“Stay back! Stay-” Savage doesn't get to finish his sentence. A large, black paw closes around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides as Oliver grins down at him. The big panther squeezes, hard, and a strangled gasp escapes the bunny's mouth as the pen clatters to the floor. Looking at it now though it's more like some sort of injector.

“Nicholas... you've done so _marvelously_ well capturing the famous Jack Savage,” Sebastian says, “I must say, the Prince will be quite pleased with this unexpected turn of events. Exceedingly pleased, in fact.”

“W-Wilde...” Jack gasps, his eyes beginning to swim in their sockets. “K-Kill me... p-please... k-k-kill... me...”

Sebastian takes a small metal probe from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the kind used by dentists. Knowing what he likes to do to other mammals for fun, the thought of what else that thing has been used for sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“Do loosen your grip, Oliver,” Sebastian smiles as he inserts the probe into the keyhole of the cuffs and begins to fiddle around, “You wouldn't want to cause any damage to the Prince's personal property.”

The teenage cat's eyes widen, and he slackens his paw just a hair. Not enough to give room for Savage to move his arms freely, but just enough that he can finally breathe without his ribcage creaking.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Smiler, Sir. Praetor,” Oliver says politely, just as the cuffs come off with a light click. I rub my wrist to ease the bruised flesh.

“You couldn't have known, my young lad. Milo,” Sebastian says, turning to the cat at the steering wheel. “You know where to go.”

“Wilde, _please_!” Jack begs as the ship's engine roars to life. His blue eyes are wide in terror. Even though I know what Sebastian is capable of, the look on Savage's face is like a knife to the gut. The fact that ZIA Agent Jack Savage could be so shaken scares the shit out of me.

“Um, Sebastian?” I ask nervously, “What... what do you plan to do to him?”

“Whatever my Prince commands, of course. I'll have to confer with the Twilight Cathedral, but for now... Oliver, if you would please hold him under the water?”

“No! NO!” Jack yelps, but the cat in question simply scoots over to the edge of the boat, and holds the small, wriggling form of Agent Savage upside-down beneath the frothing river. All I can see of him now are his little white-furred feet kicking violently as he squirms, toes spreading apart and clawing desperately into the air.

“Wait, stop!” I say, gripping Oliver's arm. “You're gonna kill him!”

“Keep holding him, Oliver,” Sebastian says calmly as he pulls on a pair of black rubber gloves. “We simply need to disable him for the moment. Most unfortunate that we were in a rush to collect you... none of the Praetors had thought to bring tranquilizers with them, otherwise it would be a simple matter of darting Mr. Savage here. Luckily I have a decent substitute.”

He pulls a small white object from his pocket, about the size and shape of an electric razor. But then I see the two metal prongs protruding from the end, and my eyes widen.

When I look back at Savage, his kicking has slowed to a few faint twitches.

“I think he's softened up sufficiently. Pull him out.”

Oliver does so, and at Sebastian's command he drops the limp form of Jack Savage onto the deck. Sebastian leans down, holding the bunny by his scrawny neck with one paw protected by a thick rubber glove.

“There we go... you must be exhausted, you poor little thing. But don't worry, the Smiler knows how to put bunnies to sleep...”

Blue-white sparks crackle between the taser's metal prongs, and the light reflects in Savage's dull blue eyes. He hiccups, water spilling from his mouth, only half-conscious now. Yet I can see the dread, the despair that drags down his features.

Sebastian is almost gentle when he presses the taser into Jack's side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's Notes: Chapter spoilers ahead!)
> 
> The Chapter Title here can mean multiple things. It can refer to Nick becoming Jack's prey (because now the ZPD/ZIA are hunting Nick down). It can refer to Jack becoming the Smiler's prey upon capture. Or it can mean Nick becoming Rufinius' prey by falling into his trap (as described below). I really love double/triple-entendres.
> 
> Here we see another one of Rufinius' Machiavellian strategies. Rufinius isn't blind to the fact that Nick will resist him every step of the way, that a free fox will hardly WANT to join the Vulpes Sanguinis of his own accord. Instead, Rufinius tries to give Nick as much freedom as possible. Notice that in just about every operation we've seen Nick participate in on-screen, he's either just training with the Sanguinis, or acting as an observer. He hasn't actually *done* anything particularly illegal himself. This is Rufinius' version of handling Nick with a light touch... pressing him into participating, but not forcing him to (outside of a threat to Judy's life just to get Nick in the game).
> 
> It's like getting a shy kid to try and swim by being reasonable and accommodating. "Okay you don't have to get into the water, just come to the pool party okay? You can just enjoy the snacks." Then what the kid doesn't know is that while he's there someone's chucked a nest of angry wasps into the picnic table and the best way to escape is to dive into the water.
> 
> So basically Frisk set up a situation in which he isn't the one who forces Nick to join the Sanguinis for real... rather, an outside agent (literally an Agent here: Jack Savage) forces him to. Frisk knew about Jack and his vendetta against the Frisks, and used the bunny rabbit's relentless pursuit of anyone in the Frisk bloodline to force Nick to sever ties with his old life completely. So for clarity once again, here's the tl;dr version:
> 
> RUFINIUS: "Hmmmm so Nick is in the ZPD. And Jack Savage is in the ZIA. What if we set up a situation where the ZPD and the ZIA have to team up? I'll have rumors planted that claim I'm coming back to town... surely the ZIA and ZPD would work together to defeat me. Then Nick and Jack will HAVE to meet each other."
> 
> JACK: "I sure hate the Frisks... wait that fox there looks a LOT like the fox who killed my Mom. Imma run a DNA test- OH MY GOD IT IS."
> 
> RUFINIUS: "Haha yes I knew Jack would notice. BTW Nick! You're family so you're gonna join."
> 
> NICK: "Nu I'm scared."
> 
> RUFINIUS: "Join or Judy gets it."
> 
> NICK: "Nuuuu- okay fine. But I obviously won't be loyal to you because I'm loyal to Judy and my ZPD buddies and they're loyal to me."
> 
> RUFINIUS: "That's fine if you're not loyal to me, I won't make you do anything that betrays your friends. Just stay close by, and I'll even make some efforts to help protect you that look clever but are intentionally flawed. Psssssssssst Jack you notice these things about Nick?"
> 
> JACK: "Hmm? Notice what... waitaminute he's wearing a scent mask, something that only Sanguinis Praetors use. And OMG was he right in the neighborhood of a Sanguinis raid on those drug-dealing sheep? And OMG!!! Did he just try to kill Skye?!"
> 
> RUFINIUS: "Haha yeah I left plenty of breadcrumbs for you to follow."
> 
> NICK: "Oh fuck I'm in trouble. But now I can't turn to my friends and ZPD buddies for help!"
> 
> JACK: "IMMA CHASE U. AND I'LL TURN EVERYONE U LOVE AGAINST U."
> 
> NICK: "Nooooo I didn't do anything wrong! I've even been trying to work against Rufinius from the inside! But now Jack Savage has turned all my friends against me!"
> 
> RUFINIUS: "Obviously this situation is all that nasty Jack Savage's fault, isn't it? After all, I haven't forced you to actively do anything illegal. I've even tried to protect you by giving you that scent mask and helping you move between your apartment and the Twilight Cathedral in secrecy, right? The ZPD and ZIA betrayed you, but I'll protect you because I've proven I can, haven't I? Jooooin meeeeeee."
> 
> NICK: *SOB* "O-okay? M-maybe?"
> 
> I'm glad for everyone who saw what looked like flaws in Rufinius' plan in earlier comments. It's just that the protection methods Rufinius put in place were flawed, but intentionally so. 
> 
> Rufinius didn't want to drag Nick into the Sanguinis by the scruff of the neck (not all the way at least... too much force would lead Nick to resent Rufinius). Instead, Rufinius acted like he was protecting Nick. He let these flaws persist so that Jack Savage would discover Nick as a possible traitor. That way, Rufnius would've pulled Nick partly into the world of the mob, but Jack Savage would chase Nick the rest of the way there. Nick would (as Rufinius hoped) then see the Vulpes Sanguinis as salvation rather than damnation.


	29. No Thorns Go Deep as a Rose's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Smiler pulls Jack through an all-nighter, while Judy has a sleepover.
> 
> (Double feature! Will have another chapter posted soon-ish tomorrow)

_**Jack Savage** _

 

My team's gonna come for me.

I mean granted, there's a good chance that once I'm taken back to the Twilight Cathedral Rufinius is gonna spirit me away. Just drug me up, pack me into a crate, and ship me off to whatever remote mansion he has out in the country.

But still, I need to believe my team's coming for me.

The facts don't matter in this sorta situation. The actual odds of escape are irrelevant. The only truth you need for survival is that you're dead the moment you start trying to do a risk assessment. When the odds inevitably look bad you lose confidence, and you stop looking for solutions. Instead you start thinking about the thorough soundproofing of the chamber, the drain in the middle of the floor, the rust-red swirls staining the concrete... that's when it's all over. You fail before you even truly begin.

So the first step in living through what's about to happen to me: have faith in the team.

We're somewhere in the Docks, that much I know. Even deep in this concrete basement and its thick walls I can still faintly smell the ocean air, the hint of salty brine that'd soaked into the mortar. I can almost hear the crash of waves against the shore. It's ice cold down here, especially after the Smiler had sliced off my jacket and shirt, leaving me bare to the waist.

Thick layers of self-adhesive tape bind my wrists behind my back. My ankles are chained to two pegs in the floor. A metal hook dangling from the ceiling had been looped through my wrist-bonds, and a winch had hoisted my arms up behind me, lifting me until my upper body is bent forward and my shoulders strain in their sockets. The pleather cuffs cut into my ankles as I tremble, perched on my toes.

Standard stress position, I tell myself, shivering. It's fine. I've trained for this.

Wilde is just staring at me from across the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He stares at me with a flat, level gaze. What's going on in his head, I wonder? Probably satisfaction at seeing me like this. Agent Savage, taken down a peg by a fox. He's almost made a hobby out of humiliating me.

I should've killed him long ago. There'd been so many opportunities, so many ways it could've been done. Poison in his food, a knife in the dark, a bullet threaded through the right window. Quick and clean and easy... but no. I'd had to try and use him to get to Rufinius, feed the old bastard misinformation.

Trying to outsmart a Frisk turned out to be a risky gambit, one I'd just lost. It would've been so much cleaner to have put him down like a rabid beast instead.

I gasp when the Smiler upends the bucket of cold water on my head. Reflexively I double over, curling forward at the sudden chill soaking into my fur, the taste of salt on my mouth as icy trickles crawl down my face. My shoulders creak as I writhe, the bonds press hard into my wrists until I can feel my flesh bruising.

“It really is rare for me to get a bunny in my parlor, I'm sure you can imagine,” the Smiler says, his tone warm as can be. “Most of the bunnies I encounter have learned to obey long before my approach becomes necessary. And those who haven't rarely pursue careers where they end up crossing my path. I do wonder... how well will you endure compared to the other mammals I've known?”

Did Mom ever suffer what I'm about to go through? Did Andy? Mom had been kidnapped from Bunnyburrow... the Prince needed her genetic material, something to keep the bloodlines of his breeds from getting too stagnant. She would've had to be softened up for her new life at the Farm. Andy had disobeyed, helped me escape that terrible night, so long ago. He had faced the Smiler too. I'd seen what this Arctic bastard had done to him with my own eyes, hiding in that damp little hole in the log.

My thoughts drift to the little room I'd been raised in... the creaky bed, the bars on the windows, the cassette player in the corner. It'd been a prison but still... I can't help but have some sweet memories of it, with the two bunnies I'd once known as my only family.

No, I have to push that memory aside. Scrubbing my mind blank I slump into my bonds, letting my vision go unfocused. Don't give them what they want, but don't resist either. That's it, Jack. Blank out every trace of who and what you are.

Go gray. You're neutral. Mute. Silent. Drink in the hot ache in your joints, the cuffs biting into your ankles. The pain is a part of you... it can't hurt you any more than your own paw of ear or tail can.

The snap of rubber gloves is a distant thing.

“I know that for a little while at least this will be a one-sided conversation,” the Smiler says cheerfully. Cupping my chin in one gloved paw, he presses the bar gag against my mouth. For a moment I hesitate, but the thought of him using force to wedge it in gets me to accept it without any complaint.

Don't fight it. He wants to make it a struggle, so if I don't give him one he can't win on that front at least. Still, the thought that I'm being gagged by this sick fuck is almost more than I can bear.

“I've dealt with enough spies to know how they try to resist,” he continues, clipping the straps of the bar gag behind my head. My tongue probes idly at the latex surface, and I feel old teeth marks... small pointed holes from fangs, perhaps from a weasel. I wonder what'd happened to him. “Normally I would be very gentle at first... keep things mild to assuage their pride. A broken finger or two, maybe just a few needles in the right spots. You know, provide a little gimme, just so you can tell yourself that you put up a good fight at least. I do try to establish a positive relationship before the screaming begins, you see.”

They're coming for you, Jack. Your team won't let you down.

The Smiler circles behind me. Despite myself, the thought that I can't see him sends a shiver through my body. Yet I do as I'd been trained to do... let myself feel the fear for a few seconds, sharp and prickly like the brush of nettles, before letting it go.

That's it. You're a void, Jack. You feel nothing.

“Unfortunately,” he continues, and I hear the squeak of ungreased wheels. The Smiler pushes a cart up beside me, and out of the corner of my eye I notice the big block of a car battery. “We're rather pressed for time, and the Prince would like you a bit more docile before we take you to the Twilight Cathedral. The supply of tranquilizers and muscle relaxants I used to keep here have expired long ago, so we'll have to resort to more cumbersome measures to soften you up. Not that I'm complaining of course.”

His paws are strangely gentle when he cups my head, fingers encircling the base of my ear. In his other paw he holds an alligator clip. It pinches down hard on the tip of one ear, then the other. My stomach clenches as copper fangs bite into tender flesh. The pink insides of my ears are particularly sensitive... Skye always loved running her tongue along them when we made love, leaving a wet trail cooling as she breathed against them. That always set my foot thumping.

The pinpricks of pain are just fluttering on the edge of being akin to a lover's bite, but with the wires attached to the clips and hanging down my back there's no way I can mistake what the Smiler is doing to me for _that_.

My body is tense. A cold shudder runs through me.

Doused in salt water to increase conductivity. Gagged so I don't bite through my tongue...

“We really did a disservice to you, letting you roam free all these years... letting you believe you were something more than a dumb bunny. 'Jack Savage...' an unacceptable name for a pet,” the Smiler's grin widens in amusement. “Did you pick that name yourself? Well, if so that's even worse. Such willfulness is unbecoming in a rabbit. You should've remembered that only a fox can give you a proper name once you come of age. Only a fox can tell you who you are and shape your destiny.”

My skin crawls when he leans in close and presses his cheek to mine. “Cute little thing. Misguided, but cute. I'd tell you now that it would be so much easier if you just accept what is about to happen to you, and embrace your new name right now. 'Tiger Lily,' as the Prince commanded. But I know you'll want to put up some resistance. Well, we can spare a few minutes I suppose. I'll administer some gentle torture, just so you can get it out of your system.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” the Smiler says, selecting a muzzle from a selection that hangs on the wall. Even the smallest sized one fits awkwardly when he holds it against my face to test it out, but he shrugs, as if it'd have to do. Taking out a white pawkerchief from his pocket he gives it a couple sprays from a small bottle. When he looks up at me a playful grin spreads across his face. “This I _do_ happen to have, coincidentally. The musk of a vixen's heat. Part of my personal stock for certain... intimate encounters. And I hear you had quite the thing for a particularly lovely fox before she was killed.”

He straps the muzzle to my face, and a warm, delicious scent that reminds me of Skye fills my nostrils. I used to drink it in whenever I went down on her, the carnal scent of her arousal. I could get intoxicated on it, especially when it mingled with the sweetness of the peach body wash she used.

I try to shake it off, to ignore the warm scent that reminds me of the hours we'd spend in each other's arms, naked save for the sweat cooling on our fur. The scent reminds me of warm beaches and Mediterranean sunsets, or in front of a smoldering fireplace in a winter cabin, the hint of wood smoke adding a certain savory quality to the musk of our lovemaking.

Oh no. No, _please_...

“Scent is quite tightly connected to memory, you know...” Sebastian grins. “Pleasant ones especially. The smell of a mother's pillow brings up warm, comforting nostalgia. The smell of old piss would immediately conjure the fear of dim alleys in run-down neighborhoods. The true challenge in my craft is rewiring those connections... dissociating scents from their old memories, and reattaching them to new experiences.”

He gives the patch of cloth over my nose a playful poke, smiling down at me. His teeth are needle-sharp, his gums blood-red. That and his laughing blue eyes are the only bits of color on his otherwise snow-white face. “Now... it's time for Jack Savage to die, and for the Tiger Lily to be reborn.”

My eyes dart down to the controller he holds in his paw. I need to blank my mind, retreat deep into myself the way I'd been trained to. But the scent of a vixen's heat fills my nostrils, stirring old memories and feelings I'd kept fenced off for the sake of professional boundaries. My heartbeat quickens, not simply out of fear, but for something else entirely. Involuntarily I clench my thighs, as a warm sense of _need_ tingles down there.

 _Skye_... I think to myself. I can almost feel the warmth of her paws, the taste of her mouth, the playful flick of her tongue when she'd lick my forehead in lieu of a kiss.

“ _I'm starting to like the taste of bunny..._ ”

I don't even hear the flick of the switch. All I feel is pain.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I lay sprawled over Danny's thigh, and his heavy paw is patting me on the shoulder. It's warm, covering me from my neck down to the middle of my waist like a big thick blanket. A half-eaten slice of carrot cake sits on the table alongside an empty glass that'd held a rum and Coke, though Danny had been nice enough to go easy on the Coke.

The slice of cake has all the frosting scraped off of it and eaten on its own. After the terrifying day I'd had I'd needed some comfort food, though I didn't quite have the appetite to get it all in me.

When Elkredge ordered me released from interrogation I was relieved at first. Once I was told the reason why though I was even more worried and horrified than before. Jack Savage had been abducted, Nick was 'at large,' as if he were some criminal, suspected of either killing or kidnapping their star Agent. The ZIA tried to keep the details hush-hush around the ZPD officers, but around me they let their guard down a bit. I did, after all, know more than anyone else did. Hearing the whispers about what Nick might've done to poor Jack, a fox and a bunny together... it made me sick. I'd thought we were _past_ these stereotypes.

With this being a city-wide emergency they needed all paws on deck, and that included the only bunny officer on the force. I was on the team analyzing the recording they'd captured of Jack's mic before it was cut off. By tracking Jack's cellphone location, best we could tell was they fell into the Manchacori River that flowed through the middle of the slums, but since we didn't have as active a force on the water we lost them at that point.

I'd done my duty with as much conviction and focus as anyone else, keeping my stress and fear from overwhelming me. But still, most of the ZIA Agents who knew all the details were looking at me like I couldn't be trusted, while the ZPD Officers who only knew that Nick was mixed up in something dangerous were treating me with kid gloves, like I was gonna fall apart emotionally. That made me _really_ mad, that they thought I was some fragile, emotional bunny who couldn't keep it together on the job, even if it did involve my boyfriend. Though in a weird way I was thankful for it at the time... being angry about mammals _still_ underestimating me was better than being terrified about the whole situation.

It was only after I'd clocked out for the day that I began to let myself freak out and vomit in the bathroom toilet.

Everyone had put in several hours of overtime for the search, and the Officers taking the night shift will likely be doing the same. Benjy was nice enough to let me stay over at his place... he knew that I probably shouldn't be alone right now. But the moment we entered his apartment he'd just packed up some clothes and left.

It didn't take much to know what was going on.

So here I am now, spending another night with the Kaplans after another tragedy. Danny and Luke are half-watching a whole season of Spongebob on Zoolu, their plates of curry polished clean. It'd probably be best for me to just drown out my worries in cartoons like these two, but even with a load of rum in me my mind's buzzing.

My paw reaches up and grips Danny's shorts. He glances down at me, and I look up at him. He's only just been able to take of his bandages. The patch of tummy where the doctors had to shave off his fur for surgery still shows a hint of naked pink skin, along with a half-healed scar. _Poor Danny_ , I think to myself. With him still recovering, should I even be here? With how big everything is for tigers there's only so much I can do to help around the house.

And with the size difference between us, it's kinda hard to cuddle Danny. I really need to cuddle something right now... it's a bunny thing, really. But all my stuffed animals are back home, including that plush fox I'd gotten to love so much. I'd first bought it in the middle of the Night Howler crisis because it'd reminded me of Nick. My first real friend in Zootopia. I'd kept that crumpled police badge sticker he'd thrown on the ground that day, unfolded it and stuck it to the plushie's nylon fur, holding it close to myself and trying not to drown in the helpless self-loathing for what was happening. At time time I'd pretended that it _was_ Nick, and even practiced several apologies to him.

What would I say to it now?

Danny's paw tightens on my body, and he gives me a little squeeze.

“So, um... me and Luke are totally cool with you staying the night,” he says. “Like, really. We love having guests over.”

“And you're totally safe around us,” Luke grins, his eyes pink and bleary from his recent dose of nip. “Since y'know, we're super gay and everything.”

“Dude, be cool!” Danny huffs. “But well... you okay, Judy?”

“No,” I murmur, his shorts stirring a little when I sigh against his leg. “No, I don't think I'm okay.”

“Jack Savage is missing, huh?” Danny says. That much had been made public knowledge, at least.

“Well, it's... more about Nick.”

Danny blinks. “Nick?”

I can't help it. The whole day a small part of me had been locked up deep down inside, screaming and screaming while the rest of me had been focused on trying to find our two missing mammals. I'd felt so alone, even more alone than I'd ever been even during the Night Howler crisis, because at least then all the ZPD officers were on the same page. But with all this sensitive information and need-to-know stuff slicing apart my professional circles I had no one else to turn to except Benjy, and he'd left long ago. Without anyone to talk to I feel like I might just explode.

So it all spills out. Everything. Spongebob goes on pause as I tell Danny and Luke all the stuff that'd happened, my voice kinda slurred from the alcohol I'd been downing this whole evening. From Shepsfield attacking Tommy, to Nick pulling a hustle to put him in jail. I tell them about how I'd released the surveillance footage, about how he was probably assassinated by the same mobsters that Nick was supposedly caught up in. And oh yeah, Nick's somehow involved with mobsters, this time _directly_ rather than just selling them rugs of questionable origin. And how he's now a suspect in the disappearance of Jack Savage, and how he's gone totally off the grid.

I just kind of barf it all out in one long rapid-fire run-on sentence the way us bunnies are prone to do. When I finally finish in what feels like an age later Danny and Luke are just staring at me, and all of a sudden I'm hoping that the two of them are both too drunk or too high to have really processed it all.

“That...” Danny says blankly. “That is a _lot_ to unpack there.”

I push myself off of his leg with a groan and curl into a ball on the couch. “Tell me about it. I barely had more time than you did to take it all in.”

For a long while Danny just stares past the still image on the TV, of Squidward with his mouth half-open. It's almost funny, how jarring that is when I put it up against what I'd just said. Maybe it's also the alcohol thrown into the mix, but the story barely makes sense to me now. It's like I'd just woken up from one long nightmare that's only just beginning to fade from memory.

“So...” Danny says slowly. “Basically, Nick is some kinda mobster...?”

“NO. No he isn't!” I sit up, surprised at the conviction in my own voice. “I _know_ Nick! Even at his worst he was only just some small-time hustler!”

Though really, if he were here he'd be pretty annoyed with that description.

“I mean, maybe the lab got the DNA mixed up!” I insist. “Or he's doing some undercover job for Bogo! Or they threatened to kill him or something! Or... well...”

I trail off. All I had to go on was the ZIA's word that Nick was a suspect. It's not like I've seen the evidence myself. There's no real proof that Nick had done anything to anyone, really.

After all, we've been down this road before, haven't we? When Nick started getting more withdrawn, and Officer Swinton told me that she saw him in a compromising position with another vixen, I knew he'd gotten himself into some trouble and was going behind my back with something dangerous. I'd taken the leap of faith then, and when he finally explained it all it turned out that trusting him was the right thing to do.

Not that I was any less pissed off that he'd left me in the dark, of course. But... he really _had_ been the Nick I'd grown to trust all along.

This time, with him somehow getting mired in a drug and mammalian trafficking ring... I just can't believe he'd go into it willingly. There _had_ to be something else going on here, just like there'd been something other than a hustle when it came to Shepsfield. Frankly, if he'd gone into this of his own accord it wouldn't have haunted him so much these past few weeks. He wouldn't have been so depressed.

But could it just be my stupid optimism talking? Nick always did tease me over that, told me I needed to be more of a realist. There's this little voice in the back of my head, nagging at me to just accept the fact that deep down inside he's broken enough to be seduced by the opportunity. There's a small part of me that still believes in those old stereotypes of what foxes are _really_ looking for when they accost a bunny.

No. No, I can't let myself go down that road. I've worked so hard to control those predophobic thoughts. It's so backwards. So wrong. So totally not Nick.

I shake off the grim doubts that try to invade my mind, and that's when I look up at Danny again. And I mean I _really_ look. Danny's lost quite a bit of weight, and he looks thinner than before, more haggard. I feel like a real jerk now. I've been so busy with the day's insane events I hadn't even taken two seconds to ask Danny how he was doing, even after he'd invited me into his home.

“I'm sorry,” I sigh, “Are... are you and Benjy all right?”

“Heh, honestly... what we've got going on here totally pales in comparison,” Danny grins.

I stir the couch cushion with my paw. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose... I should just call a Zuber and get back home...”

“No, please! We want you to stay, really!” Luke insists. “After all you've been through today you really shouldn't be alone.”

“We're friends, right?” Danny adds, and there's nothing forced about the warmth in his voice. “I mean, look... having you here, it's honestly really nice having someone sleep over. It's been pretty empty ever since...”

Danny trails off.

“Danny...” I ask carefully. “Danny, where'd Benjy go off to?”

“He's been staying at the ZPD, I think,” Danny sighs, “From what I hear he's been sleeping on the couch in the break room, using the showers in the gym.”

“He just comes in once every few days to make our meals,” Luke adds.

“Like we're too dumb to dial up and order takeout,” Danny says with a snort. “It's just... ever since that night with Lionheart, things have gotten real weird.”

For a while Danny just sits there silently, his face lit in a haze of blue and gray from the TV screen.

“It's true, y'know. About me and Benjy.”

I can feel my ears getting hot. “I- I'm sorry, Danny. I- we... didn't mean to overhear that part.”

“Well, I always imagined it'd have to come out sooner or later,” Danny sighs. “We've been messing around since we were kids. Lost our big V's to each other once we hit our mid-late teens. Don't know if that really counts though... I don't even remember ever feeling like a virgin. It was like we'd given ourselves to each other the moment we were born, y'know?”

I mean okay a little experimentation and exploration in the family isn't _that_ unheard of among bunnies, especially when you go across litters. But it's always something that everyone whispers about as a thing kits from the neighboring burrow did. Not us, nope. And even then, it was just a phase, something the parents had to be on the lookout for as their kits grow up. But it was still hardly something you talked about in polite company!

“I didn't know what it was about our relationship, but I felt so _close_ to him,” Danny continues, scrubbing a giant paw over his equally massive head, “But when we were twelve I could feel him just starting to drift away from me. And that's when I remembered... being a tigress. And meeting a fisher tiger on the Baagh river...”

He trails off for a moment, eyes going misty like he's seeing snatches of some half-remembered dream. Luke slumps in his chair giving Danny a placating half-smile, like he's heard this story loads of times before.

Danny blinks then, and looks down to me with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I know this all sounds like bullshit. I'm not a believer or anything myself, it's just... I was twelve, man. It made so much _sense_ at the time.”

“Well,” I say, scooting over and laying more of my body over Danny's thigh, “It's kinda nice to know I'm not the only one worrying. Besides, at least you've got Luke.”

“Yeah he does,” Luke grins.

“Sorry, Judy. I didn't mean to steal your thunder, you've got way more to deal with,” Danny sighs. “I just wish Benjy would open up more.”

“Trying to get Nick to talk about his feelings can be like pulling teeth,” I huff. “But sometimes he does let himself relax a little around me. He'll go all misty-eyed and talk about something that hurt him long ago, but the moment I try to comfort him he'll just pull away and change the subject, or he'll brush things off with a lame joke.”

We'd kind of have one of those moments in the sky-tram during the Night Howler case. I can still remember him glancing down at the paw I'd put on his arm, feel him pulling away.

It wasn't fair. I'd always been faster than him on the track, but when it comes to our relationship it sometimes feels like I'm chasing after him in a long, dark hallway and desperately trying to catch up.

“You're lucky you've got that, at least. Whenever Benjy has any feelings he's uncomfortable with he just heads out and crushes it at the gym.”

“Given how huge he is he has a lot of suppressed feelings, apparently.”

I hadn't meant it as a joke really, but despite the situation Danny chuckles.

“Uh, you guys?” Luke says, looking at his cellphone, “It's well past one in the morning. We should probably get to bed. Well, Judy should at least. You probably got a long day tomorrow.”

I don't wanna think about it. This whole afternoon and evening I've had to keep such a tight lid on my fear and stress and worry, and now after a couple of rum-and-Cokes I'm just feeling drained and tipsy. I take a glance at the lonely, oversized pillow and pile of blankets, and Danny must've noticed my mood.

“Hey Judy? If you, uh... wanna bunk with us tonight we'd be cool with it. We'll be total gentlemen too, promise. We'll wear our jammy pants and everything.”

“No naughty stuff, for realsies,” Luke says.

“And if you wanna head back to the couch whenever you're totally free to do it, y'know,” Danny insists. It's almost cute how nervous he is. “We're just putting the offer out there since... well... we know bunnies are into cuddling when they get upset, so... we just... we're here for you. Right?”

If I were sober I would've turned down the offer politely, maybe even been a little annoyed about a tiger being a bit presumptuous about what “bunnies are into” (which okay is technically true since if Cory and Stacey and Dixie and Clover and Buster were here I wouldn't think twice about curling up in a fluffle with them, but _still_ ). Danny and Luke are my friends though. I trust them. And they've just been so sweet and supportive right when I need them.

And I'm also still pretty drunk.

“Okay...” I sigh, smiling up at them, “Okay sure.”

Turns out that even though the two had promised to put on their pajama pants they were nonetheless really really casual about stripping down to the fur in front of me to change into them. I turn around just to be polite, though it's not like it's the first time I've seen their fuzzy plums bouncing free. They'd done much the same that night of the Lone Digger when me and Nick had spent our first night here together. Danny and Luke had extended the offer for me to bunk with them that night too, but back then we'd only just met each other.

When the two tigers snuggle up together on the bed Danny reaches out with his paw, an inviting smile on his face. For a moment I hesitate... yet given how unreal the rest of the day had been, _this_ kind of unreal situation at least promises to be comforting. Frankly, the thought of crying myself to sleep on that lone pillow and cold blanket just seems worse.

Danny lies down on his back, while Luke drapes one arm over his tummy, keeping his paw well above the beltline of his boyfriend's pajama pants and covering the patch of pink skin where Danny's surgical scar is. I nestle myself onto the tiger's broad chest, in a heavy bed of fur that smells like wild berry body wash.

With the alcohol buzzing in my head drowning out everything else, I nod off to a soft purring sound in my ears, and the rise and fall of Danny's breaths rocking me to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's Notes! Chapter spoilers ahead!!!)
> 
> The title of the chapter is derived from a line from Swinburne's Poem, Dolores (a paean to an entity known as the Lady of Pain). The particular line is a reference to the pain that love can cause, something that both Jack and Judy are feeling right now.
> 
> Also I have to admit, this is a bit of a vicarious pleasure for me. The idea of snuggling up to a pair of gay Zootopia tigers in a friendly non-naughty way is very appealing to me. I mean, that's what gay friends are for right?
> 
> I also wanted to add this little detail regarding how I'd expect bunny culture to work. I really don't expect Judy to be equally close to all her 270-something brothers and sisters. Instead, the closest sibling kinship comes from within your litter group. So Judy is super-close with her litter mates, has very close bonds with the litters that came just before and just after her, and looser sibling bonds with those who are much more distant down the line.
> 
> The idea of Judy being very cuddly came about from a lot of her body language in the movie, as well as from my own experiences. I come from culture where we're much more reserved and standoffish, so I feel a bit of dissonance among friends who greet each other with hugs and lots of physical contact. One time at my workplace we had a young Southern US gal as a new hire, and the fact that she touched me on the arm to get my attention was a bit of a culture clash on its own. I gave a jump and she seemed really startled that I was surprised by that! Of course once I recovered I felt super bad if she felt guilty about doing what just came naturally to her...
> 
> So yeah. Judy is just an extreme example of this... she comes from a very close-knit high-contact culture where putting your paw on a friend's arm, hugging them, or giving friendly punches on the shoulder is very normal. And behind closed doors, in cramped quarters like a bunny burrow, I feel that that snuggling up with siblings for comfort is quite normal too. Other mammals are the opposite though, especially more solitary predators like tigers or foxes, but it can vary. Danny and Luke are just very warm in general because they have a close, romantic bond. And they're perfectly happy to share it (yes, even outside of a sexual situation).
> 
> It's just a fluffy cute moment here. Don't make too much of it.


	30. His Lying Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot.
> 
> (Don't miss yesterday's chapter update, Chapter 29! Go back and read it if you haven't!!!)

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Have you ever heard a bunny scream? You always think they're so small and meek they wouldn't really be capable of belting it out. I mean prey mammal, right? They must've evolved to keep quiet in order to hide from preds like me back in the day. But fact is they can scream like any other mammal.

It's a terrible sound to hear... this pitched, squeaky wailing cresting and falling as rapid as a bunny's heartbeat, even through the gag. It sounds like a kit being tortured. The moment Sebastian flicked the switch and Savage's shrieks rang in my ears it was so fucking terrifying: this noise that shouldn't be possible coming from any mammal's throat, much less a rabbit's. And then I thought of Judy making that same noise, thrashing and wriggling, the clack of chains as she kicks helplessly, shoulders straining in their sockets...

So I'd put a paw on Sebastian's the moment he turned off the electricity to let Savage catch his breath.

“ _Look, I worked him over pretty good back there_ ,” I'd told him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “ _Stabbed him with a tranq dart, sucker-punched him... he's gotta have a bunch of drugs in his system just keeping him going right now. If you push too hard..._ ”

“ _I assure you, Nicholas_ ,” he'd said with his characteristic smile. We could've been chatting over a picnic from the look on his face. “ _I'm quite well-versed in mammalian physiology. I'll be regularly checking his pulse for any signs of arrhythmia. If things go downhill, I know how to resuscitate a mammal if need be. I promise... I'll be treating him as gently as I would a newborn kit._ ”

If this is how he treats newborns... I don't want to know what he'd do to an adult tod.

“ _We'll have plenty of time to break him once we bring him back to the Twilight Cathedral_ ,” I'd insisted. “ _Let's play it safe and let him rest up a little._ ”

“ _And how exactly do you propose we keep him from struggling when we_ _ **do**_ _move him?_ ” Sebastian had said, making tut-tut noises as he wagged a finger. “ _We'll be staying in this little sanctum of mine until dusk at least. The ZIA's search parties would've thinned out by then, and we'll use the cover of darkness to spirit him away. Until then, my job is to make sure he's incapable of resisting when we do leave._ ”

His grin widened then, revealing rows of milk-white teeth. “ _Why don't you wait outside with Milo and Oliver? I do realize that many mammals new to my art need some time to develop a stomach for it._ ”

It wasn't a suggestion.

So here I am now, sitting in the next room while behind a locked and soundproofed door Jack Savage is being “softened up.” The shrieks and wails coming through are muffled, the broken sobs that follow barely audible. My mind's racing in trying to figure a way out of this, but with Oliver guarding the exit and Milo barring me from the door to the torture chamber all I can do is browse the tools and equipment Sebastian keeps here.

Just as Sebastian had said there's a mini-fridge full of drugs. Even if the motor hadn't died long ago the bottles are twenty years old and long expired. There's a box of syringes on the shelf, all the plastic-lined cases filled with other torture implements are covered with dust. There are sewing needles, several soldering irons, razors, scalpels, dental tools, clips and pins, pleather straps...

The other shelf is stacked with chemicals, the bottles kept in separate bins for safety reasons. Safety reasons. I almost laugh at that thought. Rubbing alcohol and acetone have been placed neatly in one plastic bin, acids in another. There's even a box of table salt here that looks a little out of place at first, until I consider what else it might be used for.

If I were a chemist maybe I'd be able to rig some sort of bomb to take out these two panthers, but even if I could survive the blast in this small room I'd have to contend with Sebastian. No, I'm outnumbered and outgunned. There's nothing I can do. Except...

I take a fifty out of my wallet. After years of working as a small-time hustler parting with big currency like this is still kind of painful, but I offer it to Oliver.

“Hey Ollie. Why don't you pick us all up some lunch? I'm famished.”

He gives me a measuring look. I _am_ a Frisk after all, so he knows he should tread carefully. But I'm also pretty sure that Sebastian had told him to keep an eye on me, just in case my loyalties lay elsewhere.

He looks up to the cat at the other end of the room.

“Hey Milo, can you do what Mr. Frisk says?” Oliver looks down at me, “Sorry Praetor, but Mr. Smiler would want me to keep watch here.”

“I understand perfectly,” I smile, looking over to his partner. He twitches, head lifting as his eyes meet mine with a nervous look. “Hey Milo, get us some Chinese? There should be a decent takeout place just down the block.”

When Milo leaves I look over the tools again, acting like I'm examining them just out of boredom. I blow the dust off the box of syringes, even taking out a couple still shrink-wrapped in their sterile plastic packages. I roll one of the soldering irons in my paws, tapping the blackened tip with a finger and trying not to think of where it's probably been. I dust off the box of razors, a pack of fifty still wrapped tight in a sheath of cardboard. I even unscrew one of the bottles of rubbing alcohol and give it a sniff.

When Milo returns the three of us sit down to some chow mein and salt-and-pepper fish. We're all silent, save for the sound of Jack's muffled screaming.

Spooning up one last mouthful of vegetarian fried rice, I crack open my fortune cookie and glance at the message. “ _Your creativity will take you to unexpected places,”_ it says. Well, I sure as shit hope so.

Oliver's leaning against the door with a takeout box of orange-glazed fried beetles, while Milo is sitting on a chair next to the other door slurping up a mouthful of greasy noodles. They're big cats after all, so they'll be going through another couple boxes or so.

Adjusting my suit, I take a box of vegetarian chow mein over to the door and give it a knock.

When the door swings open Sebastian throws his arms wide. “Nicholas!” he says warmly, greeting me like a nephew he hasn't seen in ages. “Is that Szechuan style mealworms I smell? Ah, you do know the way to a tod's heart!”

“It's on the table,” I nod over to the spread, “This one here's for our Tiger Lily. Thought he might need a little bite to keep his energy up.”

I look over Sebastian's shoulder and try keep my face still as the shock at seeing Savage spikes through me.

Sure enough Jack's relatively intact, as Sebastian had promised. There are no burns, no cuts, no bruises. The Prince wanted his Tiger Lily clean and pretty when he was to be presented, so any damage done had to be invisible... which is why the alligator clips had been attached to his ears and his nipples. The jumper cables, their fangs cushioned with towels soaked in saline, had been attached to his skinny calves. There's no energy left in him: his head had rolled forward, and he dangles from his bonds like a corpse. The only sign that he's still alive is the faint rising and falling of his chest.

Sebastian takes the box from my paws and stirs the noodles around with the pair of chopsticks I'd stuck in 'em, glancing up at me. There isn't a hint of suspicion on his face, but I know he thinks I might just be up to something.

“Mmm shiitake mushrooms and soy sauce. How considerate for our prisoner,” he grins, passing the takeout box back to me.

“How _is_ he doing, Sebastian?”

“Stubborn, but that's to be expected,” he says, walking over to Jack. The bunny flinches at the sound of Sebastian's soft footsteps. “Most mammals piss themselves by now, but our Tiger Lily here has been quite the trooper. Though this just means I can escalate things. Give me another few days at the Cathedral, and I'll have him going down on all fours for you, just to make the pain stop.”

“He looks quite broken to me already.”

“Oh they all go through this phase at first, trying to play dead. But it's just a ruse really. Once he's deprived of sleep for forty-eight hours he'll begin to break down properly. Ah, let me show you something, Nicholas...”

Sebastian runs a paw along Savage's side then, and though Jack doesn't recoil, his breathing does quicken. He huffs deep through the muzzle and rag covering his mouth.

“The trick here is to make sure the current doesn't go through his heart. General rule... it's best to keep the electrodes either above the neck, or below the navel. I so would've liked to apply a little heat to these...”

Sebastian cups Jack between the legs and giving a firm squeeze. Savage flinches as a shiver runs through him. “...but the Prince has other ideas for our Tiger Lily that require his little berries remain intact.”

Savage whimpers through the muzzle. Tears trickle down his striped cheeks, running through the half-dried runnels of salt that'd already crusted down alongside his nose. His knees buckle as he tries to bring his legs together, but the cuffs at his ankles hold taut. The chains give a weak clack.

“You know, I worked alongside this cocky little shit for weeks,” I sigh, running a knuckle along Jack's face, exploring one long fanged stripe that curls around to the back of his head. “He'd flirt with Judy, stride through the halls like he was eight feet tall and had a proportional dick. But I gotta admit... the whole time I couldn't help but stare at this adorable little bunny.”

Jack pulls away from my paw when I say that, and his ice-blue eyes roll up to meet mine. His breathing is rapid now, and his nose wrinkles. He stares, stabbing me with that bloodshot gaze. The guy hates me with every fiber of his being. I know that if the situations were reversed, Jack Savage here wouldn't be stopping the torture and bringing _me_ a box of chow mein. No, he'd probably crank up the voltage and jerk off as I danced on the air and shrieked.

“Sebastian...” I continue, mouth curving into a wicked smile. “Have you ever seen something so cute that you just wanted to see it suffer? Something just so... achingly adorable you wanted to make it scream?”

Okay, I might be hamming it up a bit _too_ much. But at least he seems to be buying it.

“Always!” Sebastian says with a cheerful laugh.

“There's gotta be a word for that.”

“Mmm. ' _Schadenfreude_ ' still misses the mark, doesn't it? Though if anyone can come up with a word to describe suffering, it would be the Germans,” he chuckles, then cocks his head, considering. “Nicholas my boy... are you... _aroused_?”

“What? No,” I say, trying to make it sound like I'm startled. That takes a bit more meta-talent there, lying about lying. I make a show of readjusting my pants a bit, just to add to it.

“You don't have to act coy, my lad! It's perfectly natural!” he looks me up and down, his smile twisting into something playful and perverse now. He knows what I'm thinking, or at least he _thinks_ he does. Hopefully.

“Well, I suppose you can have a little turn at him. Though keep things above the belt, if you please. The Prince does reserve the right to _prima nocta_ ,” Sebastian says as he turns around, “Oh, and do leave the door open. I would like to keep an eye on the two of you. In case he tries to make a break for it, that is.”

With that, he turns around and sits down at the table for dinner.

Sighing, I set the box of noodles down and reach behind Jack Savage's head, unclipping the straps of the muzzle. When I take out the rag covering his nose I catch whiff of the musk that Sebastian had sprayed on it. There's a fleshy sweetness to it, the smell of a vixen's heat. Despite the situation I can feel myself stirring down there.

I pull the gag out from his mouth then, rolling it in my fingers and examining the fresh new bite marks he'd pressed into the latex. Nodding, I look him in the eye again with a considering smile.

“I... I know your game, Wilde...” he croaks. The guy had screamed himself hoarse.

“Look, Tiger Lily...” I sigh. Sebastian did insist we call him by his proper name now. A way to give him a clean break from his old life... a life that had only ever been an illusion, Sebastian had said. “Believe it or not, I'm trying to make your life a little easier...”

“Don't you fucking call me that...” he hisses, “The name is _Savage_. _Jack_ Savage...”

“Ah yes, that stubborn pride of yours. You know, I always thought secret agents were supposed to be calm under pressure,” I say, removing the clips from his ears. He lets out a shiver of relief, and practically moans when I unclamp the ends of the jumper cables from his legs. “But even after all you've been through you're still all fiery.”

“Better be careful not to get burned handling me, then.”

“I'll try not to. Just don't do anything stupid,” I tell him as I uncuff his ankles.

He's too weak to kick me in the face thankfully, and he doesn't resist when I lift him with one arm and pull the hook out from the bondage tape wrapped around his wrists. Jack's legs are still a bit shaky, and I have to help him totter over to the toilet in the corner. He tenses when I unzip his fly, and my fingers writhe a little when I help pull out his thingy. Soon though he's letting out a sigh of relief, ankle twitching as he empties his bladder into the bowl.

“Once we're done here you can have something to eat,” I say as I tuck him back into his undies. Huh, looks like he's also a boxer guy. “Don't worry, I'll treat you right when you're with me.”

“You're not as good a liar as you think you are...” Jack swallows. His throat sounds so raw, like he's just come out of a week-long battle with the flu, “This bad-fox, good-fox gambit you're trying to pull is so fucking transparent...”

I bark out a laugh, “Ha! You _wish_! See, thing about playing bad-fox, good-fox... is that the good fox has to be able to save your fluffy little ass. Well I don't. I don't have all that much authority here, so what I'm doing right now is for one thing, and one thing only. And I think you know what that is.”

I cup his head with one paw, and Jack's eyes widen. I trace a finger up along the inside of his thigh, and my tongue flicks out to lick the inside of his ear.

“A-ah!” Jack mewls.

“See? Exactly what you want, isn't it?” I pull back, beaming at him with a sultry little grin. “You really dicked me over, you know that? I don't blame the Sanguinis for coaxing me into joining up. I blame _you_ for ruining my life. I had a career, a partner, a girlfriend... And then _this_ had to happen. Well, you can't blame me for what I'm about to do, can you?”

His blue eyes stare up at me, shock and need mingling swimming in those ice-blue irises. He's confused, he doesn't know _what_ he wants now.

“Thaaaat's it,” I purr, nuzzling into his cheek. I can still smell the traces of vixen heat around his nose and mouth. “You're all stirred up down there, yeah? You're riled up, and I'm riled up... let's work together to solve our _mutual_ problem...”

Jack swallows hard, but for once he has nothing to say.

No one should be shocked by this... he's a Secret Agent after all. Jack Savage must've had sex in the most exotic of places, with the most unexpected mammals. Male or female it didn't matter. Whether they were moments of wild passion between missions or things he's done for the job, he's done it. Everyone jokes about Agent Packard being crazy for tail, but they must be pretty blind to not consider Savage as the real poonhound on the ZIA.

He is, in the end, a rabbit.

“Don't worry about saying yes,” I chuckle. “Just relax, little bunny, and Mr. Fox will give you everything you want...”

I press my mouth to his.

For a moment Jack tenses, like he's thinking of biting me. A shudder runs through him, and whether it's from rage or arousal it's hard to tell. Yet gradually he melts into the kiss, his tight little jaw beginning to go slack. I dare to slip my tongue into his mouth and lick his buck teeth, tasting him the way he does me.

My eye darts to the side, and I notice Sebastian looking quite pleased with what he's seeing, though it could also be the chow mein he's digging into.

Good. Let them watch.

My paws explore his body, and I press him into the concrete floor. Jack moans, hesitant but shivering with something other than utter revulsion towards me, or fear of being tortured again. In a way this is torture all on its own, a real mindfuck, but he knows he needs this.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Oliver is leaning over to peek in through the door as well.

I take a chance then, and slip my paw into the waistband of his pants. My fingers explore downward... ah, my mistake. Boxer-briefs, nice and tight against his shapely thighs. That's good. Very good.

I'm just fiddling around a bit back there, but Jack lets out a squeak when one finger hooks around the base of his tail. When I pull my paw back one foot shoots out and he kicks me in the middle, and I let out a loud “Oof!” as I roll onto my back.

I get up laughing though.

Jack lies there on the floor, panting, eyes glazed over.

“I'll just take that as a reflex of yours...” I say as I rub my chest. “Well, you really are worn out aren't you? Don't think you even bruised me there.”

I glance down at his right ankle, at the raw skin beneath the fur where the cuff had bitten into his flesh in his struggles earlier.

“Poor little thing,” I sigh, pulling out a pawkerchief. I trot over to the sink, wetting it with some clean water before I return and wrap his ankle nice and tight. “There, feel better?”

“Fuck you, Wilde...” he whimpers, face scrunched up and stained with tears. “Fuck you...”

“Well, looking forward... that's the plan,” I grin. “So you better behave, rabbit. Because now that you know what's in store, you should remember that I can be gentle or rough depending on how you behave. Now, you better eat up. You'll need to recover some strength when we go out and meet the Prince. Can't have you all half-starved and bedraggled.”

After what we'd just done Jack looks nice and meek now. He kneels quietly, wrists still bound behind him as I feed him his chow mein. He doesn't even seem like he has the energy to give me that baleful glare of his... the guy just sluggishly munches on his noodles, and asks for water at one point. Politely, even.

When we finally finish Sebastian strides in with his paws folded behind his back. He smiles down at Savage.

“I'm impressed, Sebastian. You did some good work taming him,” I say, wearing a satisfied smirk. “Honestly, I expected he'd bite my face off before he ever let me get so close.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Nicholas,” Sebastian tilts his head as he speaks. “But I can't take all the credit. I understand Savage hasn't slept well for weeks. He's been through two close-quarter fights today, even took a tranq dart to the stomach. My hours of my gentle treatment were just icing on the cake. And yet...”

A white paw shoots out, and Savage lets out a frightened gasp when Sebastian's clawed fingers close down on his tiny foot, gripping the pawkerchief tight. My eyes widen, and Jack lets out a pained squeak as that paw tightens on flesh rubbed raw by a pleather cuff.

With his other paw Sebastian quickly undoes the knot I'd tied, letting the still-damp cloth fall loose. For a moment he examines the winkled folds, like he's searching for something incriminating. Yet when he finds nothing in the makeshift bandage his smile widens, and he looks up to me.

“It seems that he'll need some antiseptic later. For now though,” Sebastian says, re-tying the pawkerchief, “We have a window of opportunity to slip out. The patrols in this area will be passing by soon, and once they do we should have a few minutes to take a car to the Twilight Cathedral.”

Picking up the roll of self-adhesive bondage tape, I toss it to Milo. He fumbles a bit as he catches it.

“Wrap him up tight,” I say, grabbing a fistful of Jack's ears and lifting him off the ground. Jack just slumps there, dangling and dead-eyed from the day's ordeals. “Ankles to ass, blindfolded... stuff a rag in his mouth and just mummify him so long as you leave his nostrils uncovered. We want him to give Gramps a nice little package to unwrap.”

“Nicholas!” Sebastian laughs, “I do believe you're finally developing a sense of style.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

I'm lying on my side in the trunk of the car. The world is pitch-black with the layers of tape wrapped over my face, and with the rag stuffed into my mouth I can't scream. Though it's not like I can make any sounds above a hoarse growl after all those hours screaming as the electricity coursed through my body.

The bonds are tight, and I have to work my arms back and forth to get even the tiniest bit of slack. But my ears twitch at the faint sound of plastic ripping, and the bonds wrapping my forearms loosen. My fingers slip back further as I wriggle, just a little bit more...

“ _See, thing about playing bad-fox, good-fox... is that the good fox has to be able to save your fluffy little ass. Well I don't. I don't have all that much authority here, so what I'm doing right now is for one thing, and one thing only. And I think you know what that is._ ”

That seductive purr, that sleazy little grin of his... so many thoughts of how I'd get him for this ran through my head. There are plenty of little safehouses I had ready, ones even the ZIA doesn't know about. I could lock him up in there, visit on occasion to take another piece out of him as he screamed into the darkness.

I'm not a violent mammal, I promise, but he's pushed me to the brink...

And then he cupped my head with one paw, and I felt the hard edge press against my scalp, right behind my ears. My eyes widened, and it'd taken me a moment for it to click. The dull back of a razor, hidden between two fingers. Probably something he'd nicked from Smiler's torture supply closet. He was a con artist after all, and a little sleight-of-hand would've been helpful for his previous career path. He was a pretty passable one even, to have not only palmed that but hidden it from sight when he confronted Sebastian.

The takeout box he'd carried in, the pawkerchief he'd tie around my ankle afterward... red herrings. All to trick Sebastian into looking for something elsewhere.

When he traced one finger along the inside of my thigh I had no choice but to play along. Him licking me along the inside of the ear was a bit too on-the-nose though, the fucker.

“ _A-ah_!” I'd mewled.

“ _See? Exactly what you want, isn't it?_ ”

This fucking guy. Yes, the razor _is_ what I want.

“ _You really dicked me over, you know that?_ ” he'd continued, _“I don't blame the Sanguinis for coaxing me into joining up. I blame_ _ **you**_ _for ruining my life. I had a career, a partner, a girlfriend... And then_ _ **this**_ _had to happen. Well, you can't blame me for what I'm about to do, can you?_ ”

There'd been a faint pause there, a blink, like he was giving me a knowing look. The Sanguinis had “coaxed” him, he'd said. “This” had to happen, he'd said. I'd considered the possibility of course, that Wilde was operating under duress. But that didn't matter. None of his bad-tod-for-a-good-cause thing mattered.

“ _Thaaaat's it_ ,” he purred, “ _You're all stirred up down there, yeah? You're riled up, and I'm riled up... let's work together to solve our_ _ **mutual problem**_ _..._ ”

The innuendo is clear as day now, but the... the thought of having to do _this_ with Wilde... oh my FUCK I wanted to puke. If I'd thought that him pulling out my cock to help me piss was sickening, having to act like I'm _enjoying_ this is gonna push me to my limit.

No. _Swallow your pride, Jack_ , I'd told myself. _You've had to fake it for a honeypot play before, even with another male_.

But the fact that it's _this_ male, this fucking goddamn Frisk of a fox, the one who'd nearly _killed_ Skye and surely _crippled_ her, one that I'd been planning to take down for _weeks_... it's taxing every ounce of willpower in me to disguise my revulsion. But we have no choice. If Wilde was gonna help get me free I'd need to play along just so he can put that razor to work. And Sebastian Dusk would have to buy the double-act of perverted-Frisk-on-broken-bunny if we're gonna get off with impunity.

Wait no. No. Bad choice of words.

“ _Don't worry about saying yes_ ,” Wilde chuckled. “ _Just relax, little bunny, and Mr. Fox will give you everything you want..._ ”

Our muzzles locked into a deep kiss.

I'll spare you the disgusting details. Though let me just say that I was glad for the fact that he was wearing a scent mask right then, because I think I would've puked into his face if I had to smell his greasy vulpine maleness on me. My mouth writhed at the effort to keep from biting his tongue off when he slipped it past my teeth, though from the way his own muzzle was wrinkling, just faintly, I could tell he was trying to keep a tight lid on his own disgust.

So there we were, in the midst of quite literally hate-fucking each other's maws, as the Smiler and his feline thugs looked on.

I could feel the faint slash of my bonds as his paws moved under the guise of feeling me up. He cut small invisible nicks in the edges of the plastic straps around my arms as he pressed me into the floor, acting like he was just exploring my shirtless body. I faked a few moans, let out a few hot gasps to try to help keep up the ruse. But him slipping his paw into my undies was just a step too far, even if he was just tucking the razor into the elastic band of my boxer-briefs along with a little something else.

Still, as far as the Smiler knew, Nick was just doing his Frisk thing and molesting a bunny.

When it finally ended I did my best to play dead, like I was overwhelmed with the humiliation of it all. I mean okay I kind of was, but I was _pissed_ too, and I had to hide that. Not just to keep the Smiler from torturing me further, but to keep him from feeling the need to search my body. That, and I needed to conserve my energy.

All for this moment.

My fingers slip into the waistband of my undies, and I pull the razor out. Sliding it beneath the edge of one strap, I begin to cut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author notes ahead. Chapter spoilers!)
> 
> Hmmmm so how do I get close enough to help loosen your bonds and slip you a tool to facilitate in your escape? Oh I know, I'll give you smoochies.
> 
> Smoochies?
> 
> Yes, smoochies.
> 
> That is gross and weird.
> 
> I'm a Frisk. We're *supposed* to be gross and weird, so Sebastian will fall for it. It'll totally work.
> 
> You're an idiot.
> 
> It'll be great-slash-terrible fanservice.
> 
> ...Okay I'm in.


	31. Rapid Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian ponders his options, Judy puzzles things out, and it all ends in bunny cuddles.

_**Sebastian Dusk** _

 

The Black Room or the White Room? That is the question I face right now.

On the one paw, few things inspire dread quite like being locked in complete darkness for several days on end. You lose all sense of day or night, drifting in and out of sleep. Deprived of your senses, robbed of any measure of time... it tends to lead to such vivid hallucinations in a subject. It doesn't take long for paranoia to set in either. Forty-eight hours, usually. By seventy-two hours, the madness that creeps in will wear a permanent groove in a mammal's mind. It can take many forms, and the results are always so deliciously unpredictable.

Yet that of course is the downside. In contrast, the same amount of time in a room rigged floor to ceiling with fluorescent lights has such consistent results. It's impossible to sleep in a setting such as that. Your eyes dart back and forth searching for a dark spot to focus on, you try to shut them tight but still the light bleeds through. The neurotransmitter imbalances that result leave a subject quite debilitated and tender for my attentions afterward. Besides, Jack had been sleep deprived for weeks, and this may push him over the edge much more quickly.

So... the Black Room for the fun? Or the White Room for its reliability?

Nicholas sits quietly in the back seat, staring out the window. When was the last time I'd felt as morose as he looks right now? I really can't remember. Certainly not after the Prince fixed me. I'll have to invite him to watch as I work... perhaps it'd cheer him up, watching someone he so despises suffer.

Besides, he'll need to find some way to spend his time constructively. With a high-profile ZIA agent kidnapped by the Sanguinis, the ZPD is searching every car, truck, and ship that leaves the City. Even helicopters have been grounded. The passing of the current security sweep gives us a window to retreat back to the Twilight Cathedral, but we won't be able to leave for a while.

Hmm. How to break him though? The Prince will of course want to show Jack the proper order of things, but once he exercises his _Prima Nocta_ it will be left to me to recondition him.

Such a willful pet would require permanent adjustments made to his body... with the Prince's approval of course. His tendons to start with, to ensure he won't be able to run away. A few cuts to the right places, and he'll be reduced to crawling around on all fours like his ancestors once did: an appropriate position for his new station. I should cauterize his vocal cords as well, but that would require a consult with Rhona... she isn't a surgeon, but I have a great deal of knowledge of mammalian anatomy and a steady paw.

We'll have to ensure his lovely coat remains intact as well. Which means that when it comes to his retraining, cutting and burning are out. Still, it's my habit to change things up a bit between sessions. The strap with its metal studs are a standby: his fur will hide the bruises. The asphyxiation chamber perhaps, or the waterboard. The simple act of breaking a finger or toe would also leave a lasting impression, and the pain endures throughout the remainder of a training session. Or I could us electricity again, but from the inside this time. The question then is which hole to-

_**whunk** _

I sit bolt upright at the sound.

“What was that?” I say, glancing at the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Nicholas says, turning away from the window to face me, “What was what?”

“Stop the car,” I order Oliver. Such an obedient lad, he doesn't question me and simply pulls over.

“Wait, what if someone sees us?” Nick says, looking out the window. We're just on the edge of the Docks, where the gentrified segments of the City are beginning to bleed through. There are indeed quite a few mammals in the area, and security cameras to boot.

But I have no choice. A prize such as this needs to be checked on.

Stepping out of the vehicle I circle around to the back and see the tail light had been knocked out from the inside, leaving only a gaping hole where it used to be, along with a trail of shattered red and orange plastic littering the street for a full block. Popping open the trunk, I chuckle at the sight. No bunny within, just a pile of shredded bondage tape.

Clever little thing. Most unfortunate for him that the Prince is always prepared.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Technically, our shift ended half an hour ago.

With the extra-long twelve-hour shifts it almost feels like it's the Night Howler epidemic again, where the whole City is in a state of emergency. Losing a ZIA Agent was no small thing. It's not just the fact that Jack's the head of the ZPD/ZIA task force... he's also knows a bunch of classified info, and if he couldn't be recovered it'd be a major security breach.

Every otter and polar bear on the force, the strongest swimmers in the ZPD, trawled the water to search for his body. Through whatever intelligence or monitoring tech the ZIA had, the belief was that if he'd been captured Jack must've been taken to a safehouse within a five-block radius at the Docks. Every vacant building and empty lot that could be searched had been, and the officers asked every mammal they could whether they saw any suspicious foxes or a rabbit with a striped coat pattern.

With no leads on either, the search was expanded to a ten-block radius. And now fifteen. All that time, still nothing.

Benjy is exhausted, I can tell. He couldn't have been sleeping very well on the break room couch, and he'd been stoic enough to not voice any complaints when I asked if we could please, _please_ continue our patrol just for a while longer. The shift that's taken over by now had started the ten-to-fifteen-block search radius zone by now, but we'd stayed for a little overtime.

My stomach's growling, even though I'm not in the mood to eat. Still, I try to force down the Nutty Crunch Carroty Yum-Yum bar, just to tide myself over until we can get back to the station and get a proper, really late dinner.

Just then I hear a low gurgle, and I blush when I realize it's Benjy's stomach growling. It's half past nine o'clock right now... he must be thinking about that pumpkin and seafood curry he'd made that's waiting for him at the break room freezer. He'd offered to share it with me, despite the presence of fish. Embarrassed that I'm keeping him from his dinner, I pull off the section of the Carroty Yum-Yum that I'd just bitten, gooey caramel and bits of peanut and almond clinging to my fingers.

“Would you like some?” I say, offering the remaining half to Benjy.

He glances down at me with a forced smile, his eyes half-lidded. “No thanks, Judy. They're a bit too sweet. Besides that's barely half a mouthful for me.”

“Aheh. Right...” I murmur, ears drooping.

“I really hope this isn't just some hunch,” Benjy sighs, leaning back with one paw on the steering wheel. “Look, I know there's this thing between you and Nick, but we haven't seen hide or hair of anyone on this route. So why here?”

The whole time I've had the car window rolled down, and I'm listening for something, anything that might indicate unusual activity. After all, foxes are nocturnal... they'd only come out at night.

“Nick's told me about one of the big hustles he's done before,” I say carefully, mulling over everything he'd admitted to me about the Shepsfield case, “No one monitors the CCTV footage live, but when you gotta hide all evidence of wrongdoing you stick to places where the coverage is spotty at best. Low-income areas, places under construction, you know. Some places the coverage is so poor that if you link the unmonitored places together you kinda get a zigzag road to where you wanna go.”

“Huh. Those foxes really are sneaky bastards aren't they?”

I'd get offended on Nick's behalf, but he'd probably take it as a compliment in some ways.

“You tell Elkredge that?” he asks.

“Yeah, he was grateful for the info,” I smile. “Said the whole CCTV thing was a pretty big tipoff. I guess that might be why they mapped out this region as the best place to search.”

“If Savage is still alive.”

“Jack Savage isn't dead,” I say firmly. “Nick won't let that happen.”

“You're putting an awful lot of trust in him,” Benjy grumbles.

My eyes narrow as I glance at him. He better not be jumping to conclusions just because Nick's a fox. “I _know_ him, Benjy. Deep down he wants to do the right thing. It's just that Nick... he _loved_ his dad when he was a kid. And when he heard his father died he... it just _broke_ him. And now all of a sudden his dad's alive and it turns out he's the son of some crime boss...”

“It doesn't matter,” Benjy growls. “I don't care why he got drawn into this sick shit, but if he's one of the mammals responsible for what happened to Danny...”

“Do you _really_ think Nick would've let anyone do that to Danny?” I press. “Benjy... he's your _friend_! I know you're mad right now but Nick might also be the victim here!”

Benjy's paws tighten on the steering wheel. His eyes grow hard as he stares down the road. “If he knew about the attack...” his tone begins to soften as he continues, “He sat down with me that night in the hospital. Tried to have a little heart-to-heart, you know. Nick's done pretty good by me, it's just when I think of him running like he did that yesterday, like he _knew_ he'd be in trouble...”

“We don't know the whole story, Benjy...”

“I know enough to do my damn job, and right now that's to catch him and rescue Agent Savage.”

“So long as you aren't just trying to get revenge for what happened to Danny.”

For a long moment Benjy just drives in silence, making his slow, determined way through the path I'd mapped out along some of the major CCTV blind spots in the area. When he finally speaks again he sounds tired.

“I smelled him on you this morning you know. Danny.”

I can feel the heat rising to my face. “Um, just so you know... we didn't...”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I know,” he says, scratching the side of his head with one finger, “That's what Danny's like. Doesn't have any boundaries... he just loves everyone. Most of it's just harmless and friendly, but sometimes...”

His nose wrinkles up in disgust.

“You know...” I say, trying to choose my words carefully, “You and Danny aren't as different as you might think.”

“Just because we're twins...” he mutters.

“You're both so single-minded, you know that? Like, you're so focused on the job all the time, and Danny is so fixated on... well...” I blush, “On _you_. It's like you two never try to make room in your lives for anything else.”

Luckily he doesn't seem to take offense. He doesn't even seem flustered at me bringing it up. “He's not _fixated_. Did you forget the fact that two weeks ago he was caught lifting his tail for Lionheart? I don't even wanna know how many mammals he's slept with, but it's gotta be in the triple digits by now.”

“Only because he's trying to find a substitute for _you_ ,” I insist. “That's another thing you two have in common. You guys are all about action. You never just _talk_ to each other.”

“We're tigers, Judy,” he shrugs. “Our ancestors were solitary predators.”

“Are you so sure that's what's going on right now? Because Luke's a tiger too, and he's one of the friendliest guys I know.”

“Do you know how much nip he smokes?” Benjy snorts.

“Look, I just think you two really need to work this out, because ignoring each other and going off to do your own thing isn't going to solve the problem,” I let out a sigh, “And I can't be your go-between for everything, you know.”

I roll my eyes. It really isn't fair. Just because preds never learned how to manage their feelings someone like me is expected to pick up the slack for them.

“We're not trying to make you our...” he trails off with a sigh.

Benjy looks up at our surroundings as if for the first time. “You know, when me and Danny first moved to the City ten years ago there was this new cultural revival going on, you know? The Millenial generation was beginning to come into its own, all the pop songs were autotuned. Some mammals hadn't heard of bubble tea before,” he murmurs, suddenly nostalgic. “Our first apartment together was a total craphole. Still had lead paint on the walls and that popcorn ceiling crap that's made with asbestos.”

I chuckle. “Well, can't say my place is much better.”

“Yeah we were one of the few tenants left in the building,” he chuckles, “When I left to attend the Academy Danny started couchsurfing with a lot of his friends-slash-hookups. I'm pretty sure they bulldozed that cancer factory soon after when the new building codes came up.”

Looking at the buildings in the area, what Benjy had said suddenly clicked.

“Wait... they tore down the buildings...”

He blinks. “Well yeah. New building codes. Most of the older, cheaper places in the slummy areas had to be rebuilt to new specs.”

My eyes widen as it clicks. “Wait... Benjy! If you were a mobster and you had to hide a kidnapped bunny for a while in this area, you'd have to take him to a safehouse, right? Some place you'd bought and maintained a long time ago? I mean, unless the Sanguinis suddenly expanded with a bunch of new safehouses all over Zootopia...”

He blinks “Yeah...”

“But you said a bunch of old buildings were torn down. But some of them must've stayed up right?”

“I'm... not sure I follow,” he says, giving me a confused glance.

“If the Sanguinis took Nick and Jack into hiding,” I begin again, more slowly this time, “You'd take him to an _old_ safehouse. One you owned twenty years ago. One that survived the demolitions and the urban revival...”

“That... that'd eliminate quite a few neighborhoods, actually...” Benjy's eyes widen. “Shit! We've just been looking at any abandoned lot!”

Benjy pulls up to the curb and parks as I sift through the contacts on my cellphone.

“ _Elkredge speaking. Did you find anything, Officer Hopps?_ ”

“Sir! I think I have a lead! Agent Mustela's got access to all the urban planning data on the city maps, right? She was able to isolate all the areas that don't have CCTV coverage?”

“ _Correct_ ,” Elkredge says patiently.

“The Vulpes Sanguinis fled the City twenty years ago right? Could Agent Mustela cross-reference any of the buildings on our search grid that are older than that? Apparently a bunch in the area had been torn down about ten years ago.”

There's a moment of silence on the line as it suddenly clicks with Elkredge, and he begins barking orders. “ _Oh son of a- Adrienne! You heard what she said!_ ”

I can hear the stoat's terrified squeak on the other end, but only a few seconds later Elkredge answers, “ _We've got six buildings in the original five-block radius, eighteen total in the expanded zone._ ”

“Can she check if any of those are businesses that've been in continuous operation for the last twenty years? Ones that haven't changed owners?” Benjy asks, raising his voice so he can be heard on the speakerphone.

“ _Looks like that narrows it down to only three, one of them in the original search zone_ ,” Elkredge says. “ _With it narrowed down to this selection we can get an emergency search warrant right now._ ”

“We're _in_ the original search zone!” I squeak, “We've... well we were just putting in some overtime, Sir!”

“ _I really don't give a shit. But good work, Hopps. It's a fish monger, owned by the Lutramore family for three generations. It'll be closed right now, but head straight there and wait until I get that warrant signed by a judge._ ”

Benjy revs up the engine, and with a steely, determined look on his face, he peels our patrol car out of the parking spot and down the street.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

Everything hurts.

I'd taken a moment to myself once I got all the tape off. I'd stretched, worked the blood into my limbs and popped my joints, pulled the filthy rag from my mouth. Sucking my tongue I'd tried to work up some saliva just to ease my thirst a little. Funny, that after nearly drowning twice- first by Wilde dragging me down the river, and again by one of Sebastian's thugs holding me under- I'm so damn parched.

Even though every part of my body ached and the searing echo of pain tingled through me I'd had no choice but to take the first opportunity I had. Though I'd wanted to wait until they got to the Twilight Cathedral before trying to make my escape- the ZIA has been hunting for the Sanguinis' secret base of operations for _years_ \- it would've all been for nothing if we got close enough for a swarm of Praetors to hunt me down again.

The moment I felt the car slow down to what seemed like a reasonable pace I'd knocked the tail light out with a double-footed kick, squeezed my tiny body through the hole, and tumbled into the street. But though I'd made a dash for it the moment I picked myself up, I'm still not sure I'm gonna make it.

My throat's still raw from screaming for all those hours as the electricity coursed through me, my shins still bruised from the jumper cables' jaws. The alligator clips had left small notches of tender flesh where they'd bitten into my ears and my chest, and all that thrashing had put some serious strain on my joints. My tendons and muscles feel like they'd been embedded with glass shards. It's a wonder I'm able to stand, much less half-run, half-lope through the alleys.

But I have to run. There was no way Rufinius would've let the Smiler take me back to the Twilight Cathedral without an escort. He'd have at least a few Praetors following, probably sticking to the roofs or stationed at checkpoints along the way, just in case I'd escaped.

“H-help...” I wheeze. In my whole adult life I've never been so frightened. All of a sudden I'm an eight-year-old kit again, almost paralyzed with fear and racing through those woods with Mom and Andy.

I can't go back. I _won't_ go back. I'd rather throw myself in traffic than get dragged before Rufinius Frisk. Whatever he plans to do to me, I'd like to see him try it on a crimson smear of pulped organs and splintered bone.

I clench the razor in my paw. It's my backup plan: a piss-poor weapon against a Praetor, but if don't get the chance to hurl my body under a car tire I can at least open my own throat.

My ears flick, suddenly alert, and I look up to the buildings looming over me. Sure enough on the roofs five stories above I see a pair of shadows leap from one building to the next. They're as quiet as the flutter of a moth's wing, nimble as spiders, swift as hawks in flight.

No. No, they're hunting me. Not again! _Never again_!

“ _You have to take Jack_ ,” Mom's voice echoes in the back of my mind, _“Take him and go south. Just keep running as far as you can and keep heading towards Bunnyburrow..._ ”

“ _No mom please...”_ The memory of Andy's sobs just heightens my fear.

My eyes dart to the side alley where they're slipping down the fire escape, these blurs of black and gray tailored suits, red fur and pointy features. They move like snakes, all lean agility and deadly grace, each with a tranq gun in paw. I almost see the leering grin on one of them.

Injured and exhausted as I am I can't possibly outrun anyone, much less a Praetor.

My heart leaps into my throat when I see the car coming down the street. This may just be my one chance.

With one final burst of strength, I bolt into the middle of the road.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

My ears pick up the sound of heavy, panicked breathing past the rush of air as we speed down the road.

“Benjy, stop!” I cry out, and attentive as he always is he slams his foot on the brake, just as out of the corner of my eye I see the blur of black-striped gray fur as it darts into the road right in front of us. The car comes to a screeching halt.

I gag, unbuckling my seatbelt... the strap had bitten into my chest when my inertia flung me against it, and it takes a second or two for me to catch my breath.

Benjy's rubbing his chest too, but with the layers of muscle he's got he doesn't need much time to recover. He pops the door open immediately, stepping out and kneeling to look under the car. “Wh- was that Agent Sava-?”

I turn up to look at him, when I spot two foxes charging towards his back, tranq guns drawn.

“Benjy, look out!”

He barely has enough time to turn around and reach for his own weapon when the Praetors fire, studding Benjy's chest with multiple darts. Benjy snarls, collapsing against the side of the squad car. They hadn't expected to encounter a tiger, and the dosage is far too low to put Benjy down, but it's enough to slow him enough that he's stumbling as he draws his own sidearm.

“It's Officer Hopps!” I say, grabbing for the radio, “Me and Kaplan are under attack by a pair of Praetors! Requesting backup _immediately!_ ”

“ _Ten-four, Hopps. Expect reinforcements in five minutes._ ”

The dispatcher on the other end doesn't have Clawhauser's reassuring charm. We might just be _dead_ in five minutes. Hopefully one of the patrols on the security sweep is close by.

I jump to the driver's seat and peek out the window, drawing my own firearm and offering some cover just as Benjy charges the nearest fox. With a snarl that seems to rattle the windshield he swipes at one of the Praetors. The grazing blow knocks the tod off-balance, just long enough for me to pull the trigger. A tranq dart sprouts from the fox's neck, and he stumbles a moment before collapsing.

Unfortunately, that's just given the other one enough time to pull a pistol out from its holster, aim it at Benjy's head, and fire.

The spray of blood mists out from his skull, and Benjy collapses to the asphalt, twitching.

Time seems to slow to a crawl the moment I see him drop. Benjy Kaplan. The toughest tiger on the force. One of the first friends I'd made in the ZPD, the second I'd made after Nick. It feels like a cloud of shock and confusion is wrapping tight around me in a cocoon. Why's he lying there? A bullet can't take him down that easily.

It's Benjy. It's supposed to be Benjy.

There's no time for tears though. No time for regrets. I point to the fox and try to fire... it's a point-blank shot, but the moment my finger touches the trigger his paw's closed in on the gun. He knocks it aside just enough that when the gun fires the dart passes right by his torso, cracking uselessly against concrete.

In an instant his fingers close on the barrel and he yanks it forward, pulling the tranq gun, and me with it, out of the squad car window.

I barely have time to let out a squeak when he throws me against the ground. The jolt rattles my teeth, and though my body armor takes most of the hit it also knocks the breath out of me. It's just me and him, a fox and a rabbit...

Predator and Prey.

Though his reflexes are faster than anything I've ever seen, I'm still the most agile officer on the force. Just as he'd batted aside my gun I curl back and land a sharp kick along his wrist before he can bring his own sidearm to bear on me. It flies from his paw, clattering on the asphalt three feet away.

My heart's pounding, and it feels like an icy fist has closed in around my chest. He's still gripping onto my tranq gun and my finger slips against the trigger. It goes off, the dart glancing against the car door and falling to the ground. His free paw shoots out then, grabbing my wrist. I let out a cry of pain when his grip tightens, crushing my arm until the bones feel like they're grinding against one another. My weapon slips free from my nerveless fingers.

In an instant he flips the sidearm around. The handle is a bit small for him, but he holds the tranq gun tight as he cracks it against my face. A spray of colors explodes in my vision, and I slump to the ground like a leaden weight. Leering down at me with a sharp, pointed grin he presses the muzzle to my neck.

All of a sudden, a pair of slim legs wrap tight around the Praetor's chest, and a gray paw yanks on one of the fox's pointy ears. A paw presses to his neck, slashing to the side, and a thin red line opens along his neck.

The fox's golden eyes widen. He lets out a gagging sound. It's not a deep cut, but the shock of it throws him off. He lets go of me and drops my gun, wrestling with the rabbit that's riding him. There's a faint clatter, and through my blurred vision I see a bloody razor blade lying on the ground.

The Praetor flings himself backward, crushing Jack against the car door with a heavy “oof!” As Jack slips to the ground I make a scramble for my fallen tranq gun. Just as the Praetor lunges at me once again, I pull the trigger. Twice.

He doesn't stumble. He doesn't even seem to notice the darts sticking out of his chest. He just continues to charge at me, this time with a taser in his paw. I leap back with a squeak as I feel the metal prongs scrape against my body armor, but all it leaves is the smell of ozone and a hot streak against the impact-resistant resin.

I stumble backward, dodging each sweep of his arm. But soon his movements slow, the determination in his eyes fades, and the fox finally crumples to his knees.

“ _Deus vulp_ ,” is the last thing he says, when he takes in a deep breath before flopping onto the ground.

I've fallen onto my tail, panting in shock at what'd just happened. Even when I was pitted against a rhino in the sparring ring in my old Academy days it hadn't been this terrifying.

“Judy...” Jack coughs.

I get up, hopping over to him. He's shirtless, his fur is a mess, and he looks more worn out than I've ever seen him. Cupping my paw against his cheek, Jack looks up at me with those crystal blue eyes. I never thought I'd see him like this... so wounded. So vulnerable.

In the distance I hear the sirens as the backup I'd called arrives.

I blink, suddenly realizing I'd wrapped my arms around his naked body for support. I can feel the heat in my ears, and Jack lands on the ground with a grunt when I let him go.

“I- um... Benjy!” I gasp, racing over to my fallen partner. To my shock though Benjy is already picking himself up, one bloody paw on his head.

“Nnngh... do you hear a ringing sound?” he groans.

“Wh... are you all right?!” I squeak. “You were just shot in the head!”

“Thick skull,” Benjy says in a slurred voice. “I think it just grazed me. I'm fine, really... I'm...”

He falls to the ground, retching.

I slump to my knees then, taking a moment to process everything that'd just happened. Just then, as the two ZPD squad cars pull up, I notice something... a flicker of motion on the rooftop, and a pair of shadows slipping out of sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry for the lack of updates recently. I've been kinda down lately and motivation for any of my personal projects has been a big issue. I just wanted to post an update to show I'm still alive, but I really need to get back into the writing game. It's definitely not a time issue, it's a matter of motivation, sadly. I definitely want to finish this story, but my rate of updates will be slowed down by quite a bit. :(


	32. You Think I'm Gonna Believe A Fox?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo is sad, Judy tries reason with a recovering Jack, Bogo grumbles to the ZIA director.

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

This is my life now.

Oliver's got his arms wrapped around me, and he's purring into my ear. I'd been too blasted out of my mind on booze and nip to really feel it when he entered me, but I knew he was there and what he was doing. I'm grateful for him. Without Oliver I'd be completely alone.

Dad's disowned me. Mom must be crying for me every night. It really has always been me and Mom, just the two of us... Dad always worked late into the night so we'd be able to afford to move out of the slums, and he was too tired to really be a parent when he came back home, except on the weekends.

They must've moved out of our house by now... the one I'd grown up in since I was three years old. Some other mammal will be living in my old bedroom. Some other mammal will be counting the stars through my old window. Some other mammal will be sliding down the banister... well, the one that'd replaced the old banister I'd go down every day until I hit my growth spurt, and I became too heavy for the thing. Ten years of a growing cat sliding down it had worn the pawrail smooth and weakened the balusters, and one day it'd broken under my teenage weight. I'd gone crashing onto the floor that morning ankles-over-ass.

Mom laughed. Dad just stared at me over his coffee and said I was getting a summer job to pay for the repairs. Harsh as it was, it was still a good memory.

No more.

I force another swig of whiskey down my throat.

The raid on Doug's compound hadn't gone down well. Four henchmammals were killed, though the Praetors made sure to have the bodies dragged away to hide the losses once the ZPD came onto the scene. By the end of it I was standing there, paralyzed. At first I thought my paws were aching from the recoil of the gun, until I realized how hard I was holding the grip. My fingers were tight, almost locked around the handle as I stared down at the dead goat and the three bullet wounds I'd put in him.

The first time I'd killed I was drugged out of my mind. The second time I'd been frightened and desperate, willing to do anything to get out of prison. And now...

Now I just took orders.

I hate myself.

Oliver's muscular arms tighten around my body. It still feels weird, feeling lean maleness instead of the soft, willowy embrace of someone more feminine. I may be straight, but for now I'll take what I can get. And right now, Oliver is someone who loves me. Eventually, I might have to come to accept that he's the only one who could _ever_ love me.

“Whacha thinking about?” he purrs.

“Nothing,” I murmur. I'm a terrible liar, but Ollie just lets it rest. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

“Cool,” Oliver chuckles, and he swirls a finger along my chest. I don't quite have the energy to bat his paw away. “I could stay like this forever, man.”

I say nothing.

This time though, Oliver seems to pick up my mood, and he sits up. My heart skips a beat and I instantly regret not answering him with some halfhearted lie about how content I was. Is he going to yell at me? Hit me? No no no I can't lose Oliver, not when I've lost everything else...

When he speaks again though his voice is strangely calm.

“You were never gonna be anything else, you know.”

I blink, staring up at him.

“College, math club, the football team... you really think you would've been anything more than a fucking slum cat?”

I pull the blankets up over my body, as if to shield myself.

“I... I got accepted. Mom and dad... they already paid the tuition...”

“Well fucking good for you,” Oliver sneers, “But how long do you think you would've lasted in class with just a football scholarship? I've seen your grades. You're not better than us, man. Fuck, you were never even our _equals_. We fucking _ruled_ the neighborhood, and all you ever did was tag along in our shadow.”

“I... I know...” I say with a heavy gulp.

“Good,” Oliver says, patting me on the head. “Don't worry, Milo. I'll protect you like I always do. And after this next mission, we'll rule the streets again.”

 

_~~~~~_

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“ _Once again our Mayor displays his typical aggression and overreach of power_ ,” Virgil Wedsley proclaims. The caribou has a bombastic tone and gestures sharply when he speaks, with the kind of strength and certainty that Hooves News viewers eat up. “ _Multiple neighborhoods in the Downtown area put under lockdown, with no information forthcoming as to why. All this talk of organized crime and terrorist sheep is just a front for Lionheart to show his muscle. We in Zootopia respect the rule of_ _ **law**_ _, not the rule of_ _ **claw**_ _.”_

The wolf, Council Member Lyall Farkas, bristles. “ _Well! This comes as a surprise, Virgil. I don't recall you complaining about overreach when you drafted the recent tough-on-crime bill that just happened to hit foxes and raccoons in my District the hardest!_ ”

I'm sitting in the ZPD break room, trying to muster the will to eat my sandwich. My stomach is growling and I'm exhausted, but I just can't work up to even taking a bite. I'm barely paying attention to the pair on the TV yammering at each other.

My paws are still shaking. All this time I'd thought the tranq gun was a civilized weapon. Perfect for pacifying a dangerous perp without causing too much harm. But when we cuffed the foxes and rolled them onto their backs their eyes had already turned glassy. A faintly bitter smell, like almonds, started to drift up from them when their mouths fell open.

That was when Agent Savage yelled at me and the other officers on the scene to step away.

Cyanide pills, he'd said. A last resort for Praetors to elude capture. The file did describe in detail the extreme lengths they'd go to either to keep the Sanguinis' secrets hidden, or to escape a lifetime in prison. Even then, I hadn't expected _this_.

“ _Oh please, always with the species card!_ ” Wedsley scoffs, “ _I'm trying to point out that Lionheart has a history of employing thuggish tactics and pack mentality to achieve his goals. Proper mammals are looking for order here._ ”

“ _You're couching a complex issue with needlessly inflammatory language,_ ” Farkas rebuts, “ _'Thuggish.' 'Pack mentality.'_ ”

I'd tried to tell myself I wasn't responsible. I wasn't the one who'd killed them. But the whole series of events that led to two mammals dead in the street... I was way too close to the end result for me to feel comfortable.

It was weird, being interviewed by another officer to record what'd happened. It was so hard trying to stay calm. I could only watch in a daze as Benjy was wheeled off in the ambulance. The whole scuffle we'd just survived had become a frightening blur. And to think, I used to believe that catching the bad guys would be exciting. Fun, even.

Would Danny hate me, I wonder, for not doing a better job of looking out for his brother? Was there anything I could've done to prevent this?

“ _Well I certainly apologize if I can't put the recent security sweeps in the Downtown area in more glowing terms!_ ” Wedsley continues. I really should change the channel, but if I don't have the energy to eat right now I definitely don't have enough to hop out of my seat and search through the couch cushions for the remote either. I could always try to reach for the power switch, but that'd require stacking some furniture to reach that high. “ _What this City needs is a leader who will respect the rule of law and the rights of the citizenry, and so long as that- so long as_ _ **Lionheart**_ _is in office we'll only see more violence!_ ”

“ _This coming from the mammal who supported Bellwether's lockdown of the City during the Night Howler epidemic,_ ” Farkas snaps, his muzzle wrinkling in anger.

“ _Bellwether's actions were above-board and transparent,_ ” the caribou maintains, “ _Lionheart on the other paw had hired goons carrying out secret abductions in the middle of the night._ ”

“ _Are you_ _ **seriously**_ _equating Lionheart's attempt to keep the peace in Zootopia with the actions of a_ _ **psychopath**_ _who conspired to foment violence against predators?!_ ”

“ _And are_ _ **you**_ _seriously continuing to use Bellwether as a scapegoat in this false flag operation?_ ”

“Knock knock.” I look up to see Lenny Packard, the ZIA's forensic analyst, rapping on the door gently. He's wearing his usual coy frat boy's grin. “You all right, officer Hopps?”

“I'm...” I start, but not quite knowing what to say I put my sandwich down and push it aside. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Packard says, tail swishing back and forth as he approaches. On his way over he flicks the power switch on the TV screen before pulling a chair out beside me. I breathe a sigh of relief... the silence is so refreshing. “And usually you look _plenty_ fine.”

“Should I be filing a Mammalian Resources complaint right now?” I mutter. Usually I'd take his harassment in stride. With all the bigger, tougher mammals on the force I've had to grow a thicker skin to deal with the coarser personalities I encounter. Right now though I don't have the patience to get him to check his sleaze.

I feel trapped here at the ZPD. I don't want to go back home to an empty bed, but even though Danny's apartment is a short walk from here I don't think I can face him right now.

“Easy, Hopps,” Packard says defensively, putting up his paws in a peaceful gesture, “Look, I'm just here to deliver the good news. Benjy's gonna be fine with a couple days of rest. Turns out the bullet hit his skull at a pretty shallow angle. Tigers have got some pretty thick brainpans too, so it didn't even crack the bone. The thing just bounced right off like a stone skipping across a pond. They're doing some scans just in case, but looks like the worst case scenario is a severe concussion.”

“That's...” I sigh in relief, and I put a paw to my chest as I smile. “That's really good news. Did they alert Danny about this?”

“First one the doctors called,” Packard grins. “You did some fantastic work there, Hopps. I'm curious: how'd you manage it? Like, how'd you figure out where to look for Jack?”

“Well, I'm not sure I would've ever done it on my own,” I admit. “At least, not when I first joined the ZPD. Benjy gave me the first major hint. But the rest, it's just... I've been working with Nick a lot, y'know? He's the one who really has a head for these things. He has a lot of experience in hiding stuff he doesn't want found, or finding stuff other mammals are trying to keep hidden.”

I shrug. “I guess some of it kinda rubbed off on me.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Hopps,” Packard chuckles. “Jack and Skye are the real puzzle-solvers on the team, and we've been working with them longer than you've been with Nick. If we couldn't soak up that kind of talent, I doubt you did the same with Nick that easily. That means this was all _you_. It probably saved Jack's life.”

“I'm sure you would've figured it out,” I say, finally deciding to let my guard down around Packard. It's nice to be able to socialize with someone again. I take a bite out of my sandwich.

“Not in time,” Packard sniffs. “You did good.”

“Well, if Nick were here he'd do better,” I murmur, taking another bite and chewing morosely.

Packard tilts his head as he stares at me. “You sure are talking him up a lot. Still trying to convince us he's innocent, or do you just really love him?”

“Both,” I admit, “But that's not affecting my judgment if that's what you're thinking. Nick... he's been in this sort of situation before. In the end he always does the right thing.”

Packard scratches his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I think I actually believe you.”

“Then help me,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches, looking down at my paw. For a moment I'd forgotten that predators aren't used to the casual little touches bunnies share. “Please. You have to convince Jack that Nick isn't the criminal he thinks he is.”

Just then Packard's phone buzzes, and he checks the text message he's just received. Quirking an eyebrow, he smirks at me. “Why don't you tell him yourself? The doc's finally finished patching him up.”

I sit there for a moment as Agent Packard stands up, when I realize he wants me to come with him. Rewrapping my half-eaten sandwich and putting it back in the fridge I try to focus and keep calm. My mind's racing... what's this about? What should I say? Is Jack gonna tell us what happened while he was held by the Sanguinis?

I stick by Packard's side as he leads me down the halls to the ZPD infirmary. The whole way there I'm practicing my speech to Jack, trying to think of every argument he'd bring up about Nick's guilt and how I might counter each one. It probably looks a little strange, me muttering to myself and gesturing, like I'm having a conversation with some imaginary mammal.

When we finally arrive Dr. Therona is just leaving. She's the ZPD's coroner, but she's also the best we have for patching Jack up at this time of night. I suppose he had good reason to refuse a trip to the hospital. After his ordeal he probably felt safer in the ZPD... Elkredge's security protocols had turned the place into a fortress.

Jack's lying down on one of the beds, back propped up against a pillow. He's wearing only a white shirt, untucked and half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up. It's about the most casual I've ever seen him. Well, aside from...

My heart skips a beat when I think back to how we'd come across each other just recently. He was shirtless, haggard, eyes wild and about as savage as his namesake. There was just something so primal about the way he fought, like a cornered beast. And the way he ignored his wounds, how his face was so still and his eyes were so focused despite the pain he was obviously in...

Look, I'm one hundred percent dedicated to Nick, but you can't expect a bunny to not see someone like that and at least _think_ about it a little.

Just then Agent Elkredge and Agent Mustela enter behind us. Mustela is wearing that ever-distracted look on her face, while the stink of tobacco smoke surrounds Elkredge as it always does. He turns around and closes the door, turning the lock with a _click_.

I blink as I look around the room. It's Jack's inner circle. And I'm standing right in the middle of it.

Even though Agent Packard had invited me to join I feel out of place in this group. Indeed, Elkredge raises an eyebrow as he looks down at me, and even Jack seems a bit surprised that I'm here. But the door is locked, and no one tells me to leave. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Well,” Jack begins, addressing me directly. “First off I suppose I should thank you for aiding in my rescue. I heard Officer Kaplan will be all right. We're short-pawed as it is, but once he gets out of the hospital I hope you'll tell him I'm grateful for his help too.”

“Of course, J- Agent Savage,” I say, catching myself. He's always been more personal with me, but in this group I should probably stick to formalities.

“Are _you_ all right?” asks Packard, “I mean, you said you'd been caught by Sebastian Dusk... the fucking Smiler, man...”

“Therona says I'll live,” Jack says, looking up at the Agents. “Any updates I should know about?”

“I got a group collecting evidence from the fishmonger's basement,” says Packard. “Turns out the Lutramore family's been working for the Sanguinis for generations. Frankly, they didn't expect their bosses would return after they fled the city twenty years ago, but the otters still kept Sebastian Dusk's torture chamber under lock and key all this time.”

“I've detained everyone who works at the shop,” says Elkredge. “I'll begin interrogations immediately.”

“Don't bother,” says Jack, slipping a paw into his pants pocket. “We've got more important things to do.”

He passes over a small wad of paper to Agent Mustela.

The stoat blinks, unfolding it and reading it aloud.

“ _'Your creativity will take you to unexpected places,'_ ” she reads, tilting her head. Obviously a message from a fortune cookie. “Well, I always expected as much.”

“The other side, Adrienne,” Jack sighs in exasperation.

Agent Mustela turns it over. “These look like GPS coordinates.”

“Exactly,” Jack says through gritted teeth. “Now... would you care to look them up?”

Agent Mustela unshoulders the pack she's carrying and pulls out her laptop. Opening it up she pulls up a map of Zootopia and punches in the coordinates. Her eyes widen.

“It's in the Downtown area,” she says, tilting her head in confusion. “Almost right in the middle of the District, several blocks from Savanna Central. The neighborhood's mostly known for its arts and leisure scene. There's even an old opera house dating back a hundred years.”

“I know that place!” I chirp, “Nick took me there to see a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream for my birthday.”

“Well the GPS coordinates center on an empty plaza is the thing,” says Agent Mustela, “It helps host the Rage 'n Rave festival every year.”

For a moment Jack just sits there, thinking. When he finally looks up he meets Agent Elkredge's eyes.

“Well, Miles? What do you think?”

Elkredge rubs his chin. “It... could be. Underground, perhaps?”

I glance between the two, trying to puzzle out what they're saying. I'm glad that Agent Packard asks so I don't have to.

“What exactly are you guys getting at?”

Jack looks at the wolf, and sighs. “Recent events have forced me to... reevaluate my opinion of Nick Wilde.”

Elkredge snorts. “For the past two months you've been hell-bent on nailing his ass as a Sanguinis. What made you change your mind?”

“He facilitated my escape.” Jack says, clenching his jaw like he's about to get his teeth pulled. “Slipped me a razor to help me cut through my bonds when I was tied up in the trunk of the Smiler's car. He also slipped me _that_.”

He points to the slip of paper with the GPS coordinates in Mustela's paw.

A warm, bubbly feeling wells up inside me, and my heart begins to race. Sweet cheese and crackers it feels _so good_ to be vindicated!

“And how exactly did he manage that?” Elkredge says, raising an eyebrow. “From what I've read of Sebastian Dusk, he would've been watching his victims like a hawk.”

Packard's nose twitches then, and his mouth tightens. “I'm uh... guessing he took certain... _extreme_ measures? To cover the fact that he was slipping you the razor?”

“Lenny...” Jack says, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Did he slip you anything else?” Packard's voice cracks, like he's trying to keep from busting out laughing. What is _wrong_ with him?

“Just curious, do you have a hyena in your family or something?” Jack growls.

“Not possible,” Packard says, waving a paw and smirking. “They're in the _Feliforma_ suborder. More related to cats.”

Jack sighs. “Regardless, the message here seems to suggest the location of the Twilight Cathedral.”

That's when Packard and Mustela stiffen, staring at Jack with mouths half-open. Elkredge shifts his weight, his eyes tightening.

“Um...” I say, leaning in and hesitant to break the tension, “Can... can someone please explain what that is?”

Jack's turns to face me, and I almost flinch when I see those determined, ice-blue eyes of his. Ever since the Task Force was put together I'd hoped he'd recognize me for my potential, but now that he has a shiver runs up along my spine. He's like no other bunny I've ever met before. There's this laser-like focus that he has, this hard and stoic attitude that's so out of place compared to all the other bunnies I've known. There's something so cold about him deep down inside that seems so dangerous.

So... _predatory_.

No... no, there's a soft side to him too. I just know it.

“The Twilight Cathedral...” Jack begins, “Is the Vulpes Sanguinis' hidden base of operations in Zootopia. The ZIA's been searching for it for decades, but we've never gotten a hint of anything suspicious.”

“It makes sense that the Cathedral would be located in that neighborhood,” Elkredge says, rubbing his chin. “It's a historical site, with restricted construction so no one would be stumbling across the Sanguinis' lair trying to dig out a new water main. And an area known for its arts and culture scene... very Frisk.”

“It was probably built when the City was first being planned. One of the earliest Princes could've had the place designed when they were laying down Zootopia's bones,” says Mustela, for once not at all seeming distracted. “If they're underground we'll have to map out the compound using ground-penetrating radar.”

“Hopefully there's more than one entrance,” Elkredge nods. “Assault them from multiple sides. If necessary we can use some heavy explosives to make our own way in.”

“Of course, this all depends on one little detail,” Jack says, leveling a hard gaze at me. “Which is whether Nick Wilde can be trusted.”

I stiffen as Jack stares at me, his eyes cold and deadly. For a moment I waver... even Chief Bogo never looked at me like this before.

“I... I thought you said the GPS coordinates...” I say, shocked at Jack's icy tone. “Nick helped you escape!”

“I don't trust anything,” Jack says, eyes narrowing. “ _Especially_ from those who save my life.”

“Real fucking lonely way to live, if you ask me,” Elkredge mutters under his breath. My ear twitches, and to his credit Jack's are perfectly still, even though he must've heard it.

“He... yes,” I say, straightening up and looking Jack dead in the eye. “Yes, you can trust Nick.”

“How can you be so sure?” he says, sitting up and leaning towards me. “Do you know what kind of work the Sanguinis is involved in? It's not just the illicit trade in catnip and other narcotics, Judy. They run an underground flesh market, selling bunny rabbits just like you and me.”

“I read the file,” I say, nose wrinkling. Does he really think I'm _so_ naive?

“And how do you know Nick wouldn't have been tempted by what the Prince offers? How do you know this isn't some trap?” Jack presses, his voice growing hot with fury. “Do you know how many sick perversions the Prince might've introduced him to? The Frisks _corrupt_ mammals, Judy. Rufinius knows how to get into your head, how _break_ _you_ _down_ until you become his _plaything_...”

“Jack...” Elkredge says, placing a large hoof on the smaller Agent's shoulder. Packard and Mustela share a worried glance between them.

I'm trying to keep my breathing steady. As Jack went on with his tirade I thought I saw his eyes starting to take on a crazed gleam. He'd stopped the moment Elkredge put a hoof on his shoulder, with one paw cupping my cheek.

“Are...” I swallow, pushing his wrist aside. “Are you still talking about what they might've done to _Nick_?”

Or is Jack talking about something the Sanguinis had done to him?

He pulls away and settles back onto the bed, his face completely blank. His cool self-restraint snaps back into place, and whatever honest feelings had been just about to bubble to the surface had cooled completely. His emotions aren't even at a tepid simmer right now. “Judy, you can't deny that he's been conspiring against the ZIA for at least the past two months now.”

“You don't have any proof of that,” I say, stiffening. “Okay. Fine. Nick is running around with mobsters. But you have no idea _why_ he's doing it. Did you even _think_ that he might not be doing this because he _wants_ to? What if he's being blackmailed?”

“Stop inventing scenarios just because you want to exonerate him,” Jack growls.

“And _you_ stop inventing scenarios just because you want to _convict_ him!” I snap back. “He saved your _life_ , didn't he?”

“That doesn't justify consorting with the Sanguinis! Whether you like it or not he's become involved with the fucking Frisks! He _is_ a Frisk!”

“His name is _Wilde_!” I snap, “You think just because he's a fox-”

“This has nothing to do with political correctness, Judy! Skye _told_ me-”

“After spending a week in a _coma_! How many painkillers was she _on_?!”

Thankfully the infirmary is empty with us raising our voices at each other. Before Jack can say anything else though Elkredge picks him up by the back of his shirt and puts him back on the bed three feet away from me. Jack protests a bit at being handled like a kit, but once he's resting on the mattress again he just levels a cold stare in my direction.

Standing up straight I cross my arms. “That note wasn't the only message Nick gave you, you know,” I say proudly.

Everyone turns to look at me then, blinking. Even Jack seems confused.

“He didn't...” Jack gives a start then, and glances at the evidence bag containing the third item Nick had left. They must've thought the only value it had was some forensic analysis. That it didn't mean anything else.

“I noticed it the moment me and Benjy saved you from the Praetors,” I say, holding a paw out, and Packard passes the evidence bag to me. It'd been wrapped around Jack's ankle, a damp rag to help soothe skin that'd been rubbed raw by a cuff. It's a faded red bandana, one that Nick had worn long ago when he'd vowed to be brave, loyal, helpful, and trustworthy. It's the same pawkerchief he'd tied around my leg when I was injured at the museum.

“It's a message,” I say, holding up the bag, taking a breath and readying myself to share Nick's story. “He's telling us he _can_ be trusted.”

 

_~~~~~_

 

_**Margot Seraphine** _

 

The smell of coffee tickles my nose.

I usually don't partake, not at this hour. While my natural rhythm is more nocturnal, I much prefer to maintain a two-phase schedule... sleeping for three hours past high noon and another three past midnight. It allows me to remain more directly involved with the activities of both the diurnal and nocturnal shifts of the ZIA (which leaves very little room for a proper relationship, or any personal life really). Caffeine at this juncture would throw off my rhythm.

Still, there is some cause for it today.

“I can't have him in my department, Margot,” Chief Bogo grunts, “Not anymore. I don't care what he's done for the City, he's too much of a wild card.”

“Do you expect a Praetor to slip in and kill him?” I ask.

“Of course not! With all the security measures Elkredge put in place?!”

 _“_ Then I don't see why you're complaining.”

Bogo lets out a frustrated snort that seems to come from deep in his belly. Rubbing a hoof against his temple he grumbles, “For someone who ran to my department begging for protection he certainly seems intent on avoiding it.”

“With how you've been treating him I can only imagine,” I say, taking a sip of my hazelnut roast.

“I'm trying to keep him _alive_!”

“But keeping him in the cub interview room? And with Bug Burgas for every other meal? You _do_ realize the tod has a certain standard of living he's more accustomed to?”

“What? Do you expect me to hire a private chef for Tarquin Bloody Vash? Or a bloody wine steward?!”

I suppress a chuckle. Vash's recent little jaunt took him to a fine dining establishment Downtown, where he'd snuck in through the back door. At least he was smart enough to keep from being seen, having requested a kitchenside table so he wouldn't be spotted in public. Given his reputation the manager had been all too happy to accommodate.

“You don't need to go that far perhaps, but a little more... class...” I say carefully, “when it comes to his treatment wouldn't be out of place.”

“I'm not a five-star hotel, Margot! There's only so much I can do to keep him comfortable while I'm protecting him from being shot or poisoned or hung from a lamp post!”

“Well it certainly won't end that way,” I sniff. “For one, those methods are much too quick for the Sanguinis.”

“Look,” Bogo's tone softens, though there's a brittleness to his demeanor like he's straining to remain calm. Between ceding much of his department's resources to Jack Savage and having to keep Tarquin Vash close at hoof Chief Bogo had been pushed to his limit. The buffalo had always valued order and having tight control over his surroundings. “Vash has dodged his handlers and escaped monitoring _three times_ already. I don't care if he needs fresh air. The job you gave me is to just keep him breathing. _Period_. If you won't take him off my hooves I'll have to take more extreme measures!”

“Yes, he's mentioned,” I say dryly. In all fairness, being thrown into a holding cell until the Sanguinis crisis ends might in fact be the most reasonable thing to do at this point. Reputation aside, Vash _is_ still a fox. He's a wily little thing, and if he wanted to get out from under Bogo's watchful eye he would.

“However,” I say, “I'm afraid I can't spare any ZIA resources to watch him. When I agreed to provide Jack Savage with the number of Agents needed for his task force I made quite clear that this would be the hard limit of what he was getting. We're stretched thin as it is with our other operations.”

Bogo's eyebrows furrow and his mouth twists into a frown. No doubt he's heard of the repeated requests Jack made for more Agents and logistics support for the past few weeks. It'd been just as frustrating on my end to have to reject Jack directly. I can only guess as to how suspicious he's getting.

“However...” I say, sweetening my tone to sound cordial, but not so much as to seem condescending. Sad fact of the world... anyone can be anything, but females still need to cultivate their mannerisms to get ahead in life. “I can perhaps pull a few strings and bring in a chef from _Canard Bleu_ to cook for him once or twice a week. With ingredients sourced from our own kitchens, of course. Those have been screened thoroughly.”

Bogo blinks, “That... would help significantly.”

I nod, satisfied, and take in another sip of coffee.

“There is... one other matter on the table, Margot...” Bogo says. His shoulders relax, and he leans in. “I'm concerned about the way Agent Savage is handling things. He's unstable, and that was _before_ he was kidnapped and tortured.”

“I'm well aware. But I have assigned individuals monitoring his situation in that regard.”

“Who?” Bogo sits up in shock. “Dr. Conall? The bloody shrink?”

“For one, yes. But what is it you would have me do?”

“Wh- isn't it obvious?! You _need_ to set him aside. Place Elkredge in charge of the task force. Someone who's more organized. More _stable_.”

“The thought has indeed crossed my mind. Several times in fact,” I allow. It's always important to acknowledge that someone across from you may be right. “But Agent Elkredge is an expert in field logistics and strategy, not intrigue. Jack Savage, however... he has a certain intuition when it comes to understanding Rufinius Frisk's mind. Out of the eight successful missions against Sanguinis operations, Agent Savage had played lead roles in six of them.”

“And how many of those missions took place in a densely populated urban center?” Bogo grunts.

I can only stare at him for a moment over the rim of my cup.

“I thought so,” the Chief sneers. “Mammals are going to die because of this, you know. ZIA agents. And some of my best cops.”

“Inevitably,” I agree. “But every officer in this city goes out on patrol knowing they may well be living on borrowed time. The only difference is that now, they're more aware of it.”

Bogo's hooves ball up into fists. His shoulders tighten and his eyes narrow. The Chief had never been one to hide his annoyance, but when he's truly furious he keeps just enough of a lid on it that he can remain professional while letting everyone else know for _damn_ sure to give him a wide berth.

“So you're just going to let a mentally unsound rabbit run a task force? One that's supposed to hold off the biggest existential threat to the City in thirty years?”

“You're severely overestimating the goals and capabilities of the Vulpes Sanguinis, Bogo. Even the most dire analysis indicates that Rufinius doesn't have the mammalpower necessary to seize a single District in Zootopia, much less the City itself. He has a specific set of goals in mind, and once he's accomplished them he'll likely slip away before the full force of the ZPD and the ZIA can descend upon him.”

“Or so he hopes,” the Chief adds with a grunt.

“Or so he hopes,” I agree.

Of course, Rufinius Varius Frisk isn't one to invest too much on hope. He directs his actions through planning and foresight.

And plans can always be unraveled if you're smart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently had a bitch of a time since my computer was hit by a really nasty virus. Luckily everything was backed up, but having to reinstall my OS and all the software I use had been a real bitch.
> 
> Hopefully you guys do a quick reread of the previous chapters now and again to keep things organized. This is my first foray into fanfic with such a complex plot, and updating every few weeks can make it hard to keep track of everything.


	33. The Raid 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack coordinates things, Judy joins her first major operation, Nick gets a little economics lesson, and a minor appearance from Katya Furlong.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

I watch the monitors as the vehicles arrive at the Arts district.

One by one they roll up and park streetside: a beat-up cable repair van, a large Ewe-Haul, an SUV with tinted windows, though the one at the driver's seat is rolled down enough so a bored antelope in her soccer mom autumn ensemble can rest her arm there. All different makes and models, so no one passing by would ever suspect a thing. Two blocks away there's the same situation, with vans and SUVs parking in uneven intervals, looking as nondescript as possible.

A dingy, rusted-out pickup truck pulls up to the street then, and Agent Bearington lumbers out carrying a large bag over one shoulder. He's wearing a stained t-shirt, goggles, hardhat, and orange vest... indistinguishable from any maintenance worker.

Carrying a large toolbox with him, Bearington takes out a crowbar and lifts the manhole cover, pulling it aside.

“Remember,” Adrienne says into her mic, “Activate the router and attach it near the mouth of the manhole, then activate the drones. I'll direct them from here.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I remember_ ,” Bearington grumbles. I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. Adrienne always got jealous when someone else was fiddling with her toys.

Under the guise of road repair ZIA Agents had been dispatched to the neighborhood to scan the sewer system below with ground-penetrating radar. It'd taken a while to construct a full picture, and even then the map of what was obviously the Twilight Cathedral was rough.

Still, what mapping we did accomplish was telling. Turns out the place was well-named... this series of hidden chambers had been built forty feet down, like an ancient temple buried deep in the earth. We'd even discovered a long tunnel that led to an auto repair shop a few blocks away, no doubt to provide vehicular access.

Of course, going that deep we'd lose radio communication with Adrienne's surveillance drones after a couple turns. Multiple drones would have to be sent out, each one relaying signals between the previous drone and the next: a chain to probe deep into enemy territory.

“ _Primary router's active and attached_ ,” Bearington reports. “ _I think I found the right grate, too._ ”

Adrienne types a few commands into her laptop. “Confirmed. We're online. Deploy the drones, I'll take it from here.”

“ _Roger. Drones are on, I've placed them on the other side of the grate and I'm beginning to cut through the lock._ ”

One by one the cameras light up on my screen, a video feed from each drone as they fly down the tunnels. Each one is practically scraping the ceiling, in hopes of avoiding any hidden cameras the Sanguinis might have in the area. Anyone observing though would see shadows flitting through the area, at best.

In the meantime, the mapping software's constructing a more solid floorplan of the sewers with each packet of data we receive.

“ _Lupini here_ ,” another Agent reports. “ _At the second penetration point. Router has been planted, and drones are active. I'm cutting through the grate on my end here too. This part of the sewer is cleaner than I'd expected. Doesn't smell that bad either._ ”

Miles sits next to me, one hoof over his mouth as he stares intently at the monitors. There's nothing twitchy about him now: no fiddling in his pocket for his cigarettes, no tapping his foot or any sign of his usual world-weariness. You only really see this sorta focus in moments like this, when the strategems he's constructed are unfolding. Probably the best drug ever, he'd told me once, and I'd agreed.

The plan that Miles had laid out was a three-point assault. A heavily armored force would be breaking through the vehicular tunnel and making a frontal attack. With the Sanguinis forces concentrated at the main atrium teams Bravo and Charlie though would be the real attack force through the secret escape tunnels we'd discovered.

Mammals would die today, but judging from the living space they had we'd outnumber them at least two-to-one, likely more. Plus, we had the element of surprise on our side.

Out of the corner of my eye Adrienne blinks for a moment, leaning in to stare at her monitor more closely.

“Something wrong, Adrienne?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. There was just a hiccup in the signal. When you're patching through multiple routers like this over radio frequencies the response is gonna be a bit sluggish. But it looks like we're here.”

The views of several cameras flick off as the drones attach to the walls belly-first. My heart pounds in my chest at a rapid pace. This is it. We've made contact to the outer wall of the Twilight Cathedral. Just a foot of masonry lies between us and the sanctum of the most vile fucking fox to have ever drawn breath. I give a hard swallow, and catch myself leaning in closer, staring at the monitor.

“Run the doppler scan,” I say, almost in a whisper.

That's the real beauty of Adrienne's work, this secret ZIA spy tech. The radar pulses these drones use can read movement through eighteen inches of concrete. They're only good for scanning the next room over, since any more walls will block the signal. But we can get a good estimate of the number of mammals in there, and their sizes and shapes. We'd only be able to scan the rooms on the periphery, though.

I bring up the scans we'd received through the ground-penetrating radar... a very rough blueprint of the Twilight Cathedral in a top-down view. Overlaying the scan results on this I construct a map of the interior, and the number and positions of potential hostiles.

“You seeing this?” I say to Miles, pointing to a room with two dots. From the estimated sizes they look to be on the high end of medium-sized mammals... probably a few panthers. Maybe wolves.

“Could be those ex-cons that vanished,” Miles nods. “Probably their sleeping quarters.”

“Here. Here! Two smaller medium-sized mammals. No, three... one just moved.”

“Gotta be foxes,” Miles breathes. “Praetors...”

My paw goes still when the scan of the next room comes up, and I stare frozen at the monitor.

“Jack?” Miles says in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “Jack, are you all right?”

“I'm fine...” I make an attempt to put on a neutral face, but the words come out flat and dead. I'm staring at well over a dozen dots, all small-sized mammals, all packed into a single room. There's no doubt... mammals of that size in the Twilight Cathedral couldn't be anything except bunnies. The doppler scan had just revealed the slave pens.

Frisk's harem.

“We'll place the Bravo assault point here,” Miles says, tapping at a region on the opposite end. He then points out another large room, with only one hostile. “Charlie will attack from here. They'll converge towards the middle and clear out one chamber after another as they work towards Alpha.”

When Alpha first attacks the front entrance, most of the Sanguinis henchmammals would've moved towards that direction. With a double-attack from behind, the Praetors and their cronies would have no cover, and no escape.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

_thumpthumpthumpthumpthump_

I look up when Officer Katya Furlong gives me a funny look, and consciously force my leg still. With Benjy recovering from his concussion it's strangely comforting having a tiger working with me again.

Thumping my foot's always helped me burn off excess nervous energy, so having to bottle it all up inside makes me even more anxious. It doesn't help that six of us are smooshed together in the back of this van.

The past few days has been a rush of activity prepping for this raid. The ZIA Agents were the only ones with security clearance to deploy their secret surveillance tech, so they had to pull extra shifts to map out the Twilight Cathedral, which left a bunch of the less exciting tasks up to us at the ZPD. Nocturnal mammals had to sync up with the diurnals, and squads were put together with barely enough time for us to develop a proper team dynamic. Hours upon hours of crunch time in tactical training had been necessary to get everyone up to speed, too. It was a miracle no had broken under the stress.

Lenny Packard looks down at me, mouth pursed.

“You sure you'll be all right, Hopps?” he asks, tapping the ceramic plate SWAT armor he's wearing. “I mean...”

I bring a paw up to the polymer chest piece I always wear. Unlike the armor everyone else had been issued for this mission it was built to handle the fangs and claws of smaller mammals, and could _maybe_ deflect a low-caliber bullet if it hit at a decent angle. And unlike everyone else in my squad the only extra piece of equipment I'd gotten was a helmet.

“They don't make heavy armor sized for bunnies yet.” Frankly, I don't know if that's even _possible_. “Besides, my best defense is my speed and agility.”

“That and you've got us bigger mammals sponging up all the bullets,” Furlong grins.

“You really should speak for yourself, Packard,” I add, trying to be a bit playful to break the tension, “You're about as jittery as a cricket on a log.”

“That an old Bunnyburrow saying?” Furlong asks.

I nod. “Can't believe you guys never use it here.”

It's no exaggeration either. None of the ZIA Agents have so much as twitched, and Packard is fidgeting almost as much as me. He's been shifting his weight back and forth, flicking his tail, and scratching an imaginary itch this whole time. Heck, he seemed to be in a state of shock the moment he was assigned to our group.

“Sorry it's just- I've put in requests to get more field experience, but I didn't expect Jack to put me in the middle of a fucking raid. I'm a forensics analyst!”

“We'll need everyone on this, Packard,” I try to reassure him. “Besides, we're mostly here for support. The Razorbacks will be doing most of the frontal assault.” Them and the rhino officers. I doubt anything could get through the inch-thick armor they wore.

Still, with eighty ZPD Officers, sixty Razorbacks, and all twenty ZIA Agents, a non-combatant could probably sit this one out. Yet Jack had insisted that everyone under his command be involved.

“Seems a little overkill,” Furlong muses, “Rumor has it Savage put in a request to the ZIA Director for more Agents and resources. And I hear she turned him down for the umpteenth time.”

“Seraphine has her reasons...” Packard replies, but with the way he trails off he sounds unsure.

Just then the Agent in charge of our Squad looks aside, like he's focusing on his earpiece. Agent Kicheko is the most serious hyena I've ever met, and when he barks out for us to stand at attention (hard to do when there's only enough room for the bigger mammals to crouch) everyone tenses.

“All right, intel says we've got at least two dozen hostiles in there. Now I know I don't need to remind you maggots, but just in case you need a refresher, anything fox-sized or bigger, shoot to kill! Anyone surrenders, dart 'em anyway just to be safe!” he snaps, “You all know the layout by now. We'll be entering through the first flanking access point. Once we get in, the chamber to the right will be the main slave pen for the bunnies. Squad Three will secure the fluffs and make sure they're safe. Squads One and Two will be sweeping the rooms hunting down stragglers! We'll be getting the order to move out any second now, so hold onto your tails!”

I feel sick at the thought of leaving captive rabbits for other mammals to help, but I've got bigger things to worry about. This whole time we've been training to take down hostiles all I had on my mind was the hope that Nick knew to keep a low profile... lie flat on the ground, hands behind his head, and hopefully he'll get out of this unscathed when the smoke clears.

If I'm nervous right now it's not because I'm worried about getting injured or killed. It's the thought that Nick might get caught in the crossfire, and in the confusion a stray bullet might...

No. No I can't let myself get lost in that line of thought. I'd had to practically _beg_ Jack to let me join in on one of the support teams rather than remaining in the reserve or the rearguard. All because I needed to be closer to the front lines to make sure Nick got out of there unhurt.

Just then I peek through the tinted windows of the van, and notice ZPD officers on crowd control directing civilians away from the area.

And sure enough my ears prick up. It's kinda amazing how other mammals seem so deaf in comparison: no one else in the van seems to notice the low rumble in the distance, like the sound right before an earthquake. Bunnyburrow got hit by one years ago when I was still a kit, and I still remember the deep bass roar that sounded before the ground shook. It wasn't much, just a shiver that rattled a few teacups. But the shock and anticipation that runs through me now is every bit as sharp as it'd been back then.

By now Alpha Team, made up of three full Squads of Razorbacks and rhino Officers, must've blown through the primary access tunnel for their frontal assault. My heart's beating like the wings of a hummingbird. My nose twitches and my tail flicks as I hunker down, ready to move. A dozen thoughts clash through my mind: of Mom and Dad back on the farm, and how I'm _so_ glad they don't know I'm about to participate in a raid on a fox mobster's den. I think of poor Danny, now having his turn sitting beside his brother's hospital bed, his worst fears come true.

Most of all I think of Nick. His wily smirk. His gentle teasing. I think of the way his scent, the way his tail would wrap around me. I think of how much I want to see him smile again, _really_ smile, the way he used to...

Just then Agent Kicheko throws open the back doors of the van and jumps out, hustling us through and shouting “ _GO! GO! GO!_ ”

We scramble out of the van, rushing to hop down the open manhole one by one, paws on the ladder and hustling fast as we can into the sewers. The moment I land I unholster my dart gun and undo the safety.

Bearington stands in front of the massive iron grate and waves us through as we turn on the shoulder-mounted flashlights and race down the tunnels as quietly as we can. None of us dare speak a word: there's only the light sounds of armor and equipment rattling and our heavy breathing as Kicheko guides us towards the Twilight Cathedral's outer wall. The smell of stale water and mildew fills my nostrils.

Finally we reach a completely dry part of the sewers. It's a hidden alcove, and some part of these walls is supposed to be a secret emergency exit for the Sanguinis. We don't have the time or inclination to look for it though. Bearington's already planting a couple explosive charges: bricks of gray putty embedded with detonators.

He gestures at us, and just as we'd trained under Elkredge's direction we press ourselves flat against the tunnel wall just around the corner. Even though Jack's issued me a pair of his special noise-canceling earbuds, I quickly clap my paws to my skull.

I don't remember seeing Bearington press the trigger.

The earth shakes. All I know of the next instant is the deafening roar, the spray of old masonry and the clouds of dust billowing down the tunnel. For a moment I pause in shock, frozen in place when the reality of the situation truly hits me and I stare transfixed at the fog of powdered mortar and stone.

 _This is really happening,_ I think to myself. It's amazing... terrifying, even, that it's now come to this. I'd _known_ that mammals would be dying on this mission, and I'd thought I'd prepared myself for it. But now with the aftershock of the explosion still ringing through my body, the thundering sound of flashbang grenades, the scent of something burnt in the air... the whole situation seems so much more _real_ than I'd ever thought possible.

 _Nick_...

No one needs to speak. All Kicheko has to do is wave his paw and we rush through the entrance, minding the scattered bricks beneath our feet. Most of the hostiles should've moved to defend the front entrance by now, but there'd no doubt be stragglers, maybe even Rufinius Frisk himself hiding in these chambers. Bravo Team's supposed to move forward to flank the main body of defenders opposite of Alpha, while us here in Charlie are tasked with securing the area.

Concrete gives way to plush red carpet under my feet. I'd known that this secret base was down here, but the maps and the training and the pondering over what it was like hadn't prepared me for this. As the beam from my flashlight sweeps the area it's like I'd stepped into a manor from the Renaissance... oil paintings line walls papered with floral patterns. The lamps that used to light the halls had been shattered- the Sanguinis do quick work to make sure they get to defend the place in the cover of darkness. But what's left of them are paneled with geometric patterns of colored glass. Even the air smells like the inside of a museum... crisp and clean and just a little bit chilly. Fancy, I'd expected... but not this sorta opulence.

“Hopps! Packard!” Kicheko snaps, “What're you two getting?”

I turn my head and focus, trying to pick up anything. There's gunfire blazing in the distance, the sound of the Squads from Bravo Team making their way through the main hall. These earbuds are also supposed to help amplify softer noises while filtering out ambient sound, so if I focus...

There. In the next chamber there's breathing, the sound of muttering and cursing. It's not Nick, but it's certainly not a large mammal.

Packard sniffs the air. “Foxes,” he says with a nod towards the door to our left, “Maybe two of them through there.” With the surprise assault, none of them would've had the time to put on their scent mask.

“Confirmed,” I add.

Squad Three is already heading to deal with the bunny pens as Furlong approaches the door. With one swift heel-kick wood splinters and what's left slams and dangles on its hinges.

We storm in, me and Furlong first, Packard close behind. My paws are steady on my gun, but my nose twitches nervously as I scan the room. It's a library, with shelves of dusty old books lining the walls and a large crystal chandelier dangling overhead. But while I still hear the foxes muttering there's no one in sight. There are a couple overturned chairs, like someone had left in a hurry, but not much else.

“This doesn't make sense...” Packard whispers. “They should be _right here_. I smell them!”

“I hear them too...” Heck, _everyone_ should be hearing them by now. My ears flick toward the source of the muttering, and I step toward it. Slowly.

After everything I'd been told about the Frisks I can't underestimate them. They only had moments to respond to our assault, but I take each step as if there might be a tripwire or one of the bookshelves might swing out to a secret chamber filled with Praetors.

And that's when I spot it. A small black case the size of a cellphone resting on the books. At first I'd thought it was coming from behind the shelf, but the sound of muttering and incomprehensible whispers had been coming straight from _that_.

Packard's eyes widen when I point it out. “Oh fuck. It's a Vital Decoy.”

While we've mostly trained on tactics and maneuvers, Elkredge had given one lecture on some of the devices the Sanguinis were known to use. I vaguely recall him mentioning these things... devices that put out vital signs: sounds of foxes muttering, their heartbeat, their scent... even a heat signature.

As if I weren't at full alert already, I look around the room for anything that might be out of place. The whispering coming from that thing is eerie, but despite the shiver up my spine I'm not about to touch something a Praetor left behind.

“Doppler scan says there should be hostiles close by,” Agent Kicheko reminds us.

Though there's the lingering sounds of gunfire and the wails of dying mammals in the distance, this part of the Cathedral is eerily silent. I hear things from every other room we check, but being unable to trust my most basic of senses is unsettling. Glancing at Packard at one point I notice that even he's starting to rub his nose and his eyes are wide, like he's on the verge of freaking out.

Worst part though is that if the vital decoys are meant to distract us, the _real_ thing we should be aware of is where the sounds _aren't_ coming from. I can almost sense the Praetors in the spooky black void between whispers, like they're staring at us ready to strike.

I almost jump when Agent Kicheko's com clicks. “ _Squad Three reporting. The slave pens are completely empty. No bunnies._ ”

“Wh- did you go to the wrong chamber?!” Kicheko snaps. “The doppler scans showed-”

“ _It's the fucking slave pens!_ ” the Agent leading Squad Three snaps. “ _It's kitted out like a brothel and there's this bunny-smell everywhere! Problem is my sniffer says it's a couple days old!_ ”

Wait, what?

“ _Officer Tuskins from Alpha Team reporting,_ ” another, deeper voice says on the com. It sounds like a warthog. “ _This is Officer Tuskins. We've only met light resistance... took down five, maybe six mammals, none of 'em foxes. There's no one else here!_ ”

My mind starts to work as Tuskins and Kicheko continue snapping at each other. Something isn't right. Light resistance... empty pens... no a trace of anyone in sight. Sure the Praetors might've been masters of hiding, but they had a bunch of less well-trained goons working for them too right? Surely we would've come across one of _them_ by now.

Unless... unless the decoys weren't meant to distract us as the Sanguinis retreated. If they were supposed to keep us _occupied_...

“It's a trap...” I say in a low murmur, my eyes widening with realization “It's...!”

But just as I begin to turn to face Kicheko, I notice something out of the corner of my vision, and I let out a strangled gasp.

A pair of green eyes, framed in a familiar red-furred face.

“Nick...”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

~~~ 2 days prior ~~~

 

_I don't need the polar bear behind me to know I'm in trouble._

_I'd like to think that I'm in the clear. Rufinius can't kill me, not if he wants great-grandkids. Even though he's pressed me to get jiggy with those three vixens already I've been able to find ways of delaying things._

_For the most part I've been using etiquette as a shield, by insisting on being a gent about it and having dinner with them one after another in turn. Get to know them before we do the deed. I doubt Gramps truly bought my excuse about sticking to a third-date rule regarding this sort of thing, but as a tod who has strong standards on “proper” conduct I don't think he has it in him to demand I drop the courtesies. I just hope Judy's able to convince Jack to raid this goddamn place before they force me into the sheets at gunpoint._

_I'd just finished my first dinner with Tatyana, the artsy vixen. Turned out the two of us had a lot in common, and in another lifetime I might've been into her for real (that is, if she weren't my goddamn **cousin** ). That thought fled just as Sebastian and Brutus met me outside the dining hall._

_I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, but you know what are the four most terrifying words when strung together? Even when relayed as a message?_

_“We need to talk.”_

_Worse, Rufinius Varius Frisk **himself** needed to talk to me._

_Trying not to look like I was about to vomit, I put on my most innocent smile and was about to head straight to his sitting room when Sebastian stopped me._

_“Ah, no. The Prince requests your presence at the Vault. If you'll follow me?”_

_So here I am, sandwiched between the Sanguinis' torturer ahead of me and their muscle behind. When I first met Brutus at that bunny auction all those weeks ago he was more like a personal bodyguard or protector. Now though when I glance back at his massive polar bear paws and his cold, piercing gaze I shudder. He's here to keep me from getting away._

_Unlike the rest of the Twilight Cathedral, the Vault is a plain concrete chamber with a large square table in front. Back in the old days before electronic bill counters all the money would be tabulated by paw, so you'd have to have one or two mammals keeping track of things with all that cash piled up on the table. Now there's just Rufinius sitting behind it, paws folded in front of him._

_Behind him though the safe is open. It's a decently sized walk-in. Far too small for a polar bear though. The shelves are stacked high with money._

_“Good afternoon, Nicholas,” Gramps says, his voice dry and brittle as ever. Brutus has to duck to get past the door, and as he closes it behind me it makes an ominous click. “I've been meaning to speak with you ever since you returned, but I have been preoccupied.”_

_“It's quite all right, My Prince,” I say with a smile and a polite bow of my head. It comes so smoothly now. “I've been busy myself.”_

_“Yes. I have heard you've been making progress in your filial duties.”_

_“Well, I wouldn't consider it a duty now. Tatyana's a real treasure to talk to.” I stick to nice little half-truths. The first and only time I'd lied to Rufinius had earned me a slap across the face that rattled my brains. The guy is worse than Doc Conall when it came to sniffing out lies, and he isn't nearly so nice about it. “And Aeliana is very pretty. Plus Camilla...”_

_My mouth snaps shut when Rufinius raises his paw._

_“I did not call you here to discuss your romantic endeavors, though I am pleased to hear that my selections have met your approval. No, I am here for something more important.”_

_He stands, his golden eyes half-lidded as he stares into me. “Another lesson for my heir. Though this lesson comes in the form of three questions. First, I ask you Nicholas... what is this behind me worth?”_

_Fun fact I'd looked up back in my hustling days: you could fit a million dollars in a decently-sized grocery bag. I do some quick math in my head, though there are other goods there: sealed bags of nip, maybe even some boxes of Night Howler bulbs. And a barrel._

_“If everything is in hundreds, I'm guessing fifty million big ones. Probably another two million for the nip if you price it out per ounce.”_

_Not that I've ever dealt it, that is._

_“Quite astute. But I'm afraid you misunderstand. What is the **intrinsic** worth of what you see behind me?”_

_I blink. “I'm not sure I get it.”_

_“What you are looking at is simply stacks of paper, Nicholas,” Rufinius says, leaning back in his seat and taking on a philosophical air. “Paper, with values printed on them. The only differentiation in value between one bill and the next is how the ink is arranged. Absurd, if you think about it.”_

_“I... suppose.” I try to be tactful, but considering the fact that I've spent the past twenty years chasing those pieces of paper his reasoning is hard to swallow._

_“The truth is, nothing in this world has value except what we assign to it, Nicholas. True, some things have more immediate value determined by our biological needs... food and water are necessities of life, whereas a taste of honey or the warmth of a rabbit's cunt are little luxuries that few will outright spurn. Yet even these only have value for a mammal who holds his survival or his pleasure in high regard, and that is not always the case._

_“The path to power then, my dear Nicholas, is to always keep in mind that nothing in life has worth unless you choose to give worth to it. When you have few attachments, you have few weaknesses. And for those who would move against you, knowing what they value and why is integral to anticipating their actions and controlling them.”_

_I lick my lips and swallow, not knowing what to say._

_“Now my second question... why do you think we assign value to money? Why do we value these little slips of paper?”_

_“I... well...” I mull it over a moment. “Are you really asking me about the history of paper money?”_

_“Of currency in general, Nicholas. Otters once used seashells and shiny stones for exchange, while Purrsia found its wealth in precious metals. A few hundred years ago mammals began to use paper money, and now we are seeing the advent of using cryptographic values stored electronically as mediums of exchange.”_

_“Well, it's much better than a barter system,” I shrug. I do read things aside from mystery novels, after all. Basic economics was crucial for my previous career._

_“Precisely. Money in any form is simply a socially recognized I.O.U., a medium by which we keep track of debt. A worker toils eight hours a day, and his employer grants him an amount of currency to indicate how much he is owed for that labor.”_

_“And because everyone else buys into that system,” I continue for him, “that worker can use his money in a store to buy stuff.”_

_“Exactly. A civilized society doesn't function by trading goods or services. It functions by exchanging measures of debt to one another.” Rufinius gestures behind him with a graying paw, “What you see behind me then is a partial measure of how much the world owes me, Nicholas. By my blood and toil, it owes me a great deal. So now, before I give you the third lesson of the day, I want you to consider why I am giving you this lecture in the Vault.”_

_All of a sudden my blood runs cold, and I know for **certain** that I'm in trouble._

_“My... My Prince... Granddad, I don't...”_

_The door to the Vault opens then, and that's when a Praetor drags in a white-furred bunny rabbit. Pearl's violet eyes are wide with terror, and he's still clutching the book he'd been reading. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn._

_“My little Pearl...” Rufinius says tenderly. For a moment Pearl clutches the book against his chest as if for protection, but he soon thinks better of it. Slowly, with trembling paws, he loosens his grip and sets the book on the table._

_“M- My Prince...” he tries so hard to sound sweet while he talks, but the poor little rabbit is terrified._

_“Pearl, come along to this side. Turn around and face Nicholas.”_

_At one point Pearl would've done it without question. Like every other rabbit in the Twilight Cathedral he'd been conditioned to obedience, but now after all the time he'd shared with me he'd begun to come out of his shell. He hesitates as he steps forward, just a hair, but it's enough for Rufinius to catch. His eyes narrow, and out of the corner of my vision I notice Sebastian's grin widening._

_Standing, Rufinius maneuvers himself behind Pearl. Cupping the bunny's chin with one paw and stroking his tummy with the other, Rufinius tucks his nose between those long ears and drinks in Pearl's scent: sweet and creamy._

_I tremble, and take one step forward when those hard gold eyes flick up and stop me in my tracks._

_“Little Pearl...” Rufinius commands, “I want you to bend over and place your paws on the table.”_

_He's terrified, but even now he obeys. He wavers only a moment as he spreads his legs. Reaching back with trembling paws he tugs his loincloth down, just beneath his rump, before he places his paws on the table. That's when he turns to face me, a fake half-smile twitching along his tiny mouth, like he's trying to reassure me that he's okay with this. That he's done this a hundred times before._

_He looks up at me, his eyes big and bright and innocent. They're violet, Pearl's eyes. Like Judy's._

_“Wait... wait, please!” I say, falling to my knees. “My Prince, please... you don't have to...”_

_Holding those hips, fingers weaving through a coat as pearly as the bunny's namesake, Rufinius stares down at his prey._

_“I know Jack Savage escaped due to your scheming,” he says in a voice calm and still as death. All of a sudden the bone-white fur around his eyes and muzzle, the pattern that makes it look so much like he's wearing a plague doctor's mask, wrinkles in a cold fury. “You owe me a bunny, Nicholas. You have a debt to me that will be repaid in this Vault, with something I know you value.”_

_And quick as a snake, those paws shoot up and grip Pearl around the neck._

_“NO!” I yowl, but before I can even try to lunge forward Brutus grips the scruff of my neck and lifts me into the air. I kick, thrashing in his grip, clawing at the thick paw holding onto me and trying to tear myself loose. Beneath me Pearl lets out a terrified, strangled sound... a noise that's quickly choked off as Rufinius' fingers tighten around his throat._

_I howl. I beg. The apologies and pleas and promises spill from my muzzle like the tears dripping down my face. There's no mercy in Rufinius though. All he does is lift Pearl enough so that I can see the pain and fear in those lilac eyes._

_It takes longer than I would've ever believed for Pearl to stop struggling. Even longer for those ivory fingers prying at Rufinius' to slip, and for Pearl's arms to fall limp and twitching at his sides._

_And then the twitching stops._

_Only when he's perfectly still and silent does Rufinius loosen his grip._

_I wouldn't have ever believed it of him, this shy little bunny who'd once been so frightened of leaving my bedroom without permission. I'd snuck carrot-flavored candy bars to him, smuggled them down here in the face of Granddad's hatred of root vegetables. He'd made me drinks as I stared out the window that night, watching the masked guests and their escorts mill in for that auction where his kin were sold off into slavery. I would never have believed that for a moment he could've given a brave little smile, just for me._

_Those eyes are blank and glassy now, and they stare up at me as if still begging for me to save him. They're red with broken capillaries, wet with tears._

_I can't even catch myself when Brutus drops me to the floor. There's no tension in my muscles, and my limbs flop like a rag doll's as I collapse. My skull slams into the concrete, and I lie there in a limp heap next to Pearl's body. My stomach is clenching in spasms, my lungs have seized. It's a struggle to take in a single breath. For a while the edges of the world turn red as I suffocate on my own panic._

_It takes a great, conscious effort to calm down enough to keep my insides from spasming. It feels like I'm trying to learn how to breathe again. The first huffs I take are shallow and ragged, but soon I'm gulping down air, drinking it in greedy gulps until I feel lightheaded._

_When I finally have the strength to prop myself on all fours, I retch._

_Wiping my muzzle with a shaky paw, I look up to see Rufinius staring down at me. The lights in the room are far too bright... my eyes are burning, but I don't think even the pitch blackness of the deepest hole in the ground could mask the sight that's been seared into my vision._

_“Now I ask you, Nicholas...” Rufinius says in his cold, determined tone. He casually cracks those sinewy knuckles, and he stares down at me with his claws extended. “How are you going to make this **right**?”_

 

~~~~~

 

_**Katya Furlong** _

 

Five years on the force. Never expected I'd have the opportunity to get in on an operation like this with just five years under my belt. And with the ZIA, no less.

It'd been exciting at first, imagining that I'd get a peek at their crazy spy tech in action. I wasn't expecting laser pens or watches with poisoned darts or explosive bow ties or anything, but a gal can dream.

Still, I was a bit disappointed when our duties mostly involved just regular patrols and investigations. Same shit, longer hours, and with even more paperwork and security checks. Just about as un-sexy a turn of events as you might imagine. Not that I'm complaining, exactly. It was an honor to serve the City, even if we couldn't see it from where we were. And the overtime pay was nice. But even after the warehouse fire shit had become routine.

I'm not complaining. Really. I love my job, and I work with some of the best mammals you can meet. It's just... being on this raid, it's finally what I've been itching for. Some real serious action. And after Kaplan got shot I'm definitely ready to vent some aggression against some vulpine assholes.

When I learned the both of us had gotten onto the joint task force, part of me had hoped we'd be paired up. It wasn't just the rumors of him being one of Gazelle's hot backup dancers (besides, _that_ had been thoroughly disproved once word got out that his twin brother turned out to be real after all). We genuinely have some chemistry. Just a small spark, at least. We've been gym-acquaintances for so long, had so many conversations over soy protein or at the water fountain, and I know he's been glancing at me the same way I do to him.

When Judy was paired up with Benjy I didn't quite know what to think. Word is she's a bit of a predophile, but I can't imagine this sweet little rabbit going for a a stud like Benjy. Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous.

Of course, by the time we storm the Frisk compound all that love triangle crap has been stuffed into a neat little box in the back of my mind.

Her ears flick back and forth as we check each room. Once I would've felt like I needed to babysit her, make sure this cute little bunny doesn't spaz out at the slightest noise and scurry for cover. Frankly, a small part of me still feels like that's the best thing she could do: take cover and provide supporting fire while us tougher mammals take care of things.

You learn real quick not to underestimate Judy Hopps. Still, it's hard to tell whether she's brave or just foolhardy for joining in on a raid like this.

“Wh- did you go to the wrong chamber?!” Agent Kicheko barks into his mic. For a hyena he's got disturbingly unsmiling features. “The doppler scans showed-”

“ _It's the fucking slave pens!_ _It's kitted out like a brothel and there's this bunny-smell everywhere! Problem is my sniffer says it's a couple days old!_ ”

They continue to argue while me and Hopps and Packard keep an eye out for any VS cronies. I can only manage to watch one hall at a time. Frankly I wish we had a couple more prey mammals for a lookout situation. Better peripheral vision. You could tell from the outset that with the way our teams were composed Agent Elkredge had anticipated way more direct conflict... something we preds tend to be a little better equipped for.

Still, out of the corner of my eye I notice Judy straighten. Every muscle in her body tenses as she stares down an archway in shock.

I barely pick up a soft, surprised “Nick...” before a streak of red fur in a dark tailored suit zips toward us. The crack of gunfire in this small space rings in my ears, but before I can bring my sidearm to bear there's the clatter of something metallic, a heavy pop, and all of a sudden the area fills up with thick gray smoke.

Hopps lets out a soft “oof!” next to me. I snarl, waving a paw to clear the mist away, and in that instant there's a blur of red and gray zipping past me: a fox carrying a bunny in the crook of his arm.

“IT'S WILDE!” someone shouts, and I blink in shock for a moment before I come to my senses, joining the other Officers chasing after him as he bolts down the hallway.

What the hell?! Sure Wilde had vanished mysteriously the same time as Jack Savage had, and the ZIA had been tight-muzzled as to where he'd gone. Rumors had been flying, mostly from those who don't work in the Savannah Central precinct, that Nick had joined the Vulpes Sanguinis. As if any of us who actually knew him would believe that shit.

But I can't deny what I'm seeing now. There he is, this red fox carrying a bunny away like some medieval savage abducting an innocent from a village. It looks so scary and wrong that I'm having trouble processing it. A half-dozen of us are right on his ass, and more had been alerted by the shouts of alarm that he's got Hopps and are moving in to assist.

He's fast, Wilde... and it doesn't help things that we ZPD Officers are weighed down by our armor. We can't even shoot him without possibly hitting Judy. Yet all of that stops mattering the moment he runs into a dead end.

Floral wallpaper and antique glass lamps are replaced by bare concrete. Vaulting over the wooden table Nick throws Hopps into the walk-in safe at the back of the room. Her body is so limp, that it looks like he's just tossing a rag doll inside.

Swift as a hummingbird's wing, he grabs the thick steel door and slams it shut.

Those of us who recognize him shout for his surrender. Others fire wildly in his direction. He's ducked below the table though, and the bullets ping and ricochet against the safe door.

It's chaos, with some of us screaming at Wilde to fall to the floor and put his paws behind his head. Others are shouting for the other officers to hold their fire. At no point do the pops of gunfire and tranq darts slow down.

He's crazy fast... faster than I remember seeing him in training courses. He just zips over the floor, paws on his head for protection, as he dodges towards a corner. There, slippery as a greased weasel, he scurries into a small fox-sized hole in the floor. The last thing to vanish is his long, floofy tail, as bullets leave sprays of sparks and powdered concrete in his wake.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” someone shouts.

“Did ya idiots just chase Wilde 'alfway across the Cathedral?!” a kangaroo Agents snarls.

“He had Hopps, sir!” I say in my defense.

“I don't care!” the roo shouts. “Do you realize how many traps you could've stumbled into?!”

Just then, the tunnels shake with a series of distant booms. Agents and Officers alike shift their weight as down the hall another explosion roars to life. Gouts of smoke and fire throw up half a dozen bodies. The massed group in the heart of the Twilight Cathedral cry out in shock.

I only have a moment to glace upward at the thousands of tons of stone and masonry above us, before it begins to rain down on our heads.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes: Spoilers Ahoy!)
> 
> I would estimate we're about 80% finished with the ficcie here.
> 
> It was pretty hard to write Pearl's scene. First because I wish I'd established him a little bit more as a character to make this bit have more impact. Second, because the idea of killing off a sweet little fella like him is obviously really harsh.
> 
> Katya Furlong first made her appearance in Chapter 3 if you guys wanna check back on her.
> 
> And since it'd be really mean to leave you guys hanging, I'll be posting the next chapter either tomorrow or on Monday!


	34. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufinius has a drink with Rhona, Jack deals with a little surprise, Margot is at a meeting and another cat gets his moment.
> 
> (Chapter 33 was posted just yesterday! Check it out if you've missed it!)

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

He truly seems to be a different mammal once he's elbow-deep in his work.

Marcus Asner. The same fat, sweaty, stuttering fox who'd nearly soiled himself watching as I eviscerated my eels. There isn't an ounce of tension in him now, even after being kept under surveillance these past few weeks with none of the familiar comforts of his home. True he'd trembled the moment I stepped in to examine his work, but once the ZIA began to deploy he was too busy to be afraid. All his attention is now on checking the systems he'd infiltrated.

“How did yeh ever anticipate things would happen this way, m'Prince?” Rhona says as she sidles up behind me, kneading my shoulders just as a dutiful daughter might. On my PawPad I watch the ZIA and ZPD plant their explosives, about to penetrate the outer wall of the Twilight Cathedral.

“I didn't,” I smile. “You know the old saying, my dear Rhona. All battle plans fail the moment the first shot is fired.”

Oh it's good to have a broad outline, plus a few solid threads running in the background just to keep others guessing. But a single script has a nasty habit of unraveling as time goes on. A clever tod must be willing to cut the cord when needed, and move on to the next.

“Things certainly failed neatly fer yeh though, didn't they?” Rhona smiles.

I chuckle, watching as the walls blow inward. The Officers throw their gas canisters and flashbangs into the breach, and the moment they explode in those empty chambers they rush through in pairs.

“The key to power in this game, my dear, isn't to have a detailed plan. It's to know the players, the pieces, and the board. Knowledge and resources, the will and wisdom to use them... _that_ is the true path to victory. That and knowing what you are willing to sacrifice to achieve your goals. The ZPD and ZIA are creatures of procedure and protocol, and that makes their moves all too easy to predict.”

I smile and snap my fingers then, and a pair of Opal Oak rabbits rush to my side, one bearing the wine glass and the other the bottle. They pass me the glass and kneel in reverence. The wine is sweet with the smell of cherries and graphite.

“I do believe they're deep enough. Sebastian?” I say, turning to face the grinning arctic fox at my side. “Begin the remote detonation sequence.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

The worst part about heading any operation is the waiting.

I'm honestly not built for this: sitting nice and safe in a parked van, flicking between the body-cam feeds as the Agents secure one chamber after another. I should be down there, right in the middle of the action like I've been so many times before. Maybe I should've left Miles to head logistics while I get down there into the thick of things, but he would've vetoed that idea right quick. I need to keep a clear head, he'd told me. I was too close to the Frisk situation already.

Teams Bravo and Charlie get through one chamber after another, each one empty of Praetors. It's all perfectly normal of course, for the foxes to slip into hiding in a combat situation. Many Agents had died from this tactic, falling for their Vital Decoys while the foxes prepared to ambush from the shadows. But my team has been trained for this, and they can guide the mammals on the ground.

“ _Team Alpha to Savage. Come in, Savage,_ ” Officer Tuskins reports.

“I'm here. Report,” I say into my mic, flicking over to the body-cam feeds from the primary assault team.

“ _Agent Savage, we've broken through the front entrance, no casualties. But there was only a skeleton crew here._ ”

“What?”

Elkredge turns to face me so quickly that his antlers scrape the roof of the van. His eyes are narrowed in confusion.

“ _Agent Savage do you read me? Repeat: there's only a skeleton crew. No more than five or six hostiles, none of them foxes. What are your orders?_ ”

“Um... Jack?” Adrienne interrupts, turning to face me from her monitor.

“Not now, I'm thinking!” I snap back. This wasn't right. Any well-defended compound would have a bare minimum of twenty mammals able to reinforce that chamber in the event of a breach.

“ _Team Bravo to Savage_ ,” says Agent Howlston, “ _The bunnies aren't here. Repeat: the bunnies aren't in the indicated chamber!_ ”

“But...” I sit up, and notice Adrienne waving frantically trying to get my attention once again.

“What's happening?” I demand.

“I... I ran another doppler scan, cuz I thought I found a glitch in the system. The numbers haven't changed! No one's moved! Even after the initial breach the doppler indicates that there's just as many mammals sitting in those rooms as in the first scan!”

Oh no... oh fuck _NO!_

“I think my drones have been hacked!” she squeaks, tears spilling down her narrow face.

“ _ALPHA! BRAVO! CHARLIE!_ ” Elkredge brays into the mic, loud enough to rattle the van. “ _Get everyone out of there!_ ”

“ _Agent Savage, do you hear me?_ ” Tuskins says again. “ _What are your orders?_ ”

It wasn't just the doppler scan protocols that've been hacked, I quickly realize. The drones are also the communications relays linking our radio signals together, and one end had just been severed.

All of a sudden there's a shocked cry on the Bravo Team's channel.

“ _IT'S WILDE!_ ” someone shouts.

“ _Hold your fire! Hold your fire!_ ”

“ _He's got Hopps!_ ”

My jaw drops. My heart leaps up into my throat. I can feel the icy grip of horror squeeze down on my chest in the realization that I've just sent eighty mammals forty feet underground into a trap. Only when there's the crack of gunfire and the din of confused shouts do I snap out of it and hop out of my seat.

Kicking open the door to the van I race out. By the sound of hooves hammering behind me Miles is close behind.

“Jack!” he shouts, “Jack, wait!”

“We've walked right into a fucking trap!” I snarl. I can't believe it. The one time I decide to trust Wilde... no... Frisk. Nicholas Piberius fucking _Frisk_...

How could I have forgotten? Did a pair of lilac eyes and a heartfelt plea really trump all my years of training and instinct as a ZIA Agent? Did it really take a sob story to turn me into an idiot?!

I skid to a halt in front of Team Delta. Twenty ZPD Officers, twenty Razorbacks, and ten Agents in reserve. They're loosely grouped around their cars, all of them heavily armored with guns drawn and awaiting their orders.

“Everyone! The mission has been compromised!” I shout. They all turn to face me, confusion reigning more than shock. I can't blame them... all that buildup and anticipation for the most massive operation they've seen in their lives, and it all falls to shit in ten minutes? I don't think I'd believe it either.

“We need to-” I begin, but my ears stiffen. There's a low roar, like the groan of a terrible beast from under my feet. A half an instant later the ground rumbles, and the open manhole that Team Charlie had gone through erupts in a gout of dust.

The tremor nearly knocks me to my ass, and all the mammals crowded around me need to catch themselves against their vehicles.

“Oh fuck! What was-”

“Oh no no no...”

“Shit! SHIT!”

Next to me Officer Loupin steadies himself and approaches the manhole, and recoils from the heat and the smoke. There's no way anyone would be able to get through that way anymore.

“We need backup!” Loupin shouts.

“We ARE the backup, dumbass!” Fangmeyer roars back.

In all the time I'd fought the Vulpes Sanguinis I'd known they'd go to terrible lengths to achieve their goals. I've seen mammals enslaved, kits tortured, the leftovers of deaths so slow and painful that the end result of murder seemed almost incidental. Warehouses had burned. Criminals had burned. _Innocents_ had burned, all on the sacrificial pyre to their hungry god Rufinius Varius Frisk.

But I still thought that he might've held something sacred. His own sanctum, itself named the Twilight Cathedral of all things, should've been holy ground... a temple for the Vulpes Sanguinis. Yet that had been another lie... and another thing to consign to the flames.

“Attention...” I say, though my voice cracks at first. I can taste the tears as I swallow, “I said _attention_!”

The cacophony of frightened chatter dies down.

“This is a search and rescue operation now, do you hear me?!” I say. My vision's growing misty, and I feel a half-sob, half-hiccup coming, but I refuse to let them see me scrub my eyes. I'd sent Lenny down there. That sleazy, sex-crazed wolf always bragging about how he could tell when a female was a week away from her heat. He'd been frightened of the prospect of the raid, but I'd needed the best sniffers I had for this. He wasn't a field Agent. He's forensics... a lab scientist. Why did I ever think he belonged down there?!

“Contact emergency services,” I say with a faint choking sound, “Have them get every digger and underground engineer they can. We need to get our people out as soon as possible. Grizzinski! Get to Agent Mustela and see if she can find any alternate routes to the Cathedral from the maps we've got. Loupin! Fangmeyer! You two-”

The moment I speak their names they straighten up. Fangmeyer puffs out her chest, while the side of Loupin's throat splits open in a spray of blood.

The orders die in my throat. Loupin throws a paw to his neck, eyes wide as he gags, blood spilling from his maw and down his front in sheets. He stumbles for a moment before collapsing into a twitching heap. Fangmeyer steps back in horror, when suddenly her head snaps forward as another bullet cracks into her helmet.

“NO!” I cry out.

Every semblance of organization and discipline breaks down. Most of the officers drop for cover, but the Razorbacks, all heavily armored warthogs with steely determination hammered into their bones, point their weapons up and scan the surrounding buildings for the snipers.

Bullets fall on us like lightning bolts from a clear sky, ringing against the roofs of cars and striking down Razorbacks and officers unable to crawl beneath the vehicles in time. Elkredge's head is thrown to the side as he's hit, and he slams into the van next to me as he falls.

“MILES!”

This isn't the first time I've been under heavy fire. There'd been Professor Kald and his goons in his Arctic base. The Meowmbai Hotel incident. The goddamn shitshow that was the Cairo mission. But each time it'd only been me and another couple Agents, ones I'd been close enough to that I knew they were ready to die for the cause.

But this... I have to watch dozens of mammals being gunned down, ZPD Officers more used to petty criminals and traffic violators. Bright-eyed innocents who likely only thought of this task force as a step up in their careers. Terrified mammals who have no idea what it's like to live high and fast because chances are you're gonna die young doing what Agents like us do.

What hell had I brought them into?

All of a sudden I notice something strange. A bunch of civilians on the sidelines... the ZPD should've set up a three-block perimeter and warded them off, but here they're coming to gawk. A bear in a hooded sweater, a lion in a tracksuit, a pair of panthers in varsity jackets hiding in an alley...

My eyes widen when the realization hits me. The mammals in the distance take something out of their pockets, about the size of a business card case. One by one they press their thumbs into the interior, and lick the small blue tabs they pick up.

They're twitching as they draw their firearms. Suddenly, the bear and lion charge the ZIA van where Adrienne's sitting, completely defenseless.

I whip out my gun, ready throw myself into the line of snipers in the vain hope that I might be able to plug the two charging hostiles before I'm killed. I refuse to lose another mammal, especially a tiny stoat who can't even hold a firearm to defend herself!

All of a sudden I feel a set of hooved fingers close in on my leg and drag me to the ground. I thrash, struggling against whoever had seized me when I look down and realize it's Miles. The bullet had shattered one of his antlers at the root. He groans, a trickle of blood dripping down the side of his face as he pulls his hulking body over me to protect me from the sniper fire.

“No!” I cry out. “Miles, no! NO! LET ME DO THIS!”

He's propped himself up enough that I'm not gonna suffocate under him, but still I'm trapped beneath a thousand pounds of moose.

And all around me, ringing in my ears, are the screams of dying mammals.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Margot Seraphine** _

 

Mayor Lionheart rests his chin on his knuckles. There's always been a fire in his eyes. Now though those deep brown pools, once full of reassurance and confidence, are ringed with dark circles. With each scream, each plea for help, another ember in him dies.

The moment the operation began no one had made the slightest sound in this room. All eyes are on the speakers sitting on Lionheart's desk. Each breath is muted, slow and drawn-out. Each swallow is heavy and thick.

Of course it's Bogo who makes the first move, but even his normally unshakable presence seems fragile, as if he's aged twenty years in the past five minutes. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor is grating in my ears, though I'm the only one who doesn't flinch.

“E-excuse me...” he says, in a trembling voice. Even his fury can't burn hot in this situation, not when it's being drowned out by the wails of the wounded and dying, many coming from his own. “I need to help contain this situation.”

With that, he turns and makes a brisk exit.

Tarquin Vash sits next to me in his rumpled shirt. He's been famous for his preening vanity, but now he's wearing a shirt that hadn't been ironed in weeks, and his silk tie is dotted with mustard stains. He seems skinnier as well, like he hasn't been eating well. The tod grips his muzzle with both paws, eyes wide and wet with unshed tears.

It really has come to this, hasn't it?

“ _Director Seraphine?_ ” Agent Carlyle reports over my earpiece. “ _The RACER units are ready and in position. We've got targets locked and assault vectors plotted._ ”

Lionheart and Vash look up to me as I shift in my seat, and leaning back I put a finger to my mic.

“Then deploy them. Deploy the RACER units.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jeremy Katzen** _

 

I'm really sick of these things.

The Carroty Yum-Yum bars are pretty sweet already... it's all that condensed carrot juice, honey, and freeze-dried fruit and vegetable bits. The Nutty Crunch flavor is a bit more well-rounded, though.

Hopps had been nice enough to bring a couple cases of these things back to the Precinct for us to try. Most of the mammals there had split a bar for a taste, just trying to be polite. Half a case had been left sitting at the front desk for a whole week before it was discovered that these things had just the right mix of nutrients for us.

I ball up the wrapper and drop it over the ledge. A gust of wind carries it couple blocks before it drifts down to the street below.

Clawson gives me the side-eye through his goggles. “That's littering, you now.”

“Well be sure to write me up then.”

If I sound cranky it's because I'm shivering my tail off. It's a bitch waiting up here on the roof of the 12-story Tigersgate hotel. I wish I'd brought a sweater. Most of us cheetahs don't develop much of a winter coat, and the skin-tight kevlar vest is meant to be protective and aerodynamic, not to keep me warm. Same with the thin leggings, and the nanofiber mesh ankle supports.

Brody is thinking the same apparently, because he gives the Agent in charge a nod. “Yo, Agent Buckthorn! What's the holdup? I wanna get running already!”

“ZIA's still checking the area to make sure we've got all the Praetors' locations,” Buckthorn says, not caring to dress down Brody for mouthing off. “We've only got one shot at this.” Unlike the other Agents she isn't as much of a hardass, and for an antelope she's actually quite pretty. It's easy to get along with her, even if the discipline is a bit more lax on our team.

When we were doing performance evaluations for Jack Savage's task force, I'd thought I was a shoo-in for a position. I'm the fastest sprinter in the Savannah Central ZPD Precinct, and second only to Hopps when it came to running that obstacle course. And that was only because she'd used her cheaty bunny tactics to do it. She'd bounced off of McHorn and off my shoulder to get ahead, then burrowed under obstacles when she didn't have us bigger mammals to ricochet off of.

I was shocked when they posted the listings of who got in. Hell, I must've read the list three times, desperately searching for my name. I should've been on that list. I've got top rankings in speed and reflexes. Hell, I'm one of the few cheetahs who can get to 80 miles per hour in under five seconds!

Still, even if Jack Savage didn't have need for a sprinter, the ZIA had other plans.

Me, Spot, Brody, and Clawson were holding an all-cheetah pity party at Giraffa's Grille the night we were put in the reject pile. As usual Donna Weaselton was working the bar, and you know when she's there you're gonna have wild night and a hell of a hangover the next day. You're just gonna have to pray that you don't wake up the next morning in a pile of your own vomit with a naked weasel sleeping at your side.

I was in the middle of my third Mai Tai when an antelope approached our table. Now she wasn't my type... I don't really go for the preyo thing. But I gotta admit that after getting into Gazelle I've learned to appreciate leggier mammals with more junk in the trunk.

Agent Buckthorn wasn't there to flirt, though her sweet demeanor definitely had us hooked (I mean it _was_ a bar and it _was_ late at night. Us guys were gonna be thinking with our balls, preyo or not). Instead she had a wholly different proposition in mind.

As cool as it'd sounded when we signed on, none of us truly knew what we were in for. Grueling 12-hour workout days to improve our stamina and speed and agility. Crash-course barkour lessons so we could navigate the urban jungle and make split-second decisions in all three dimensions of movement. Strictly controlled diets with six small meals a day to make sure we kept lean, light, yet packed with energy.

The Carroty Yum-Yums turned out to be a great way to pack dense carbs as a snack right before an operation. I've had to choke down so many of these things these past two months that I've started having dreams of just binging on beer and pasta.

God, I miss pasta.

Living at the ZIA training compound also meant that our communications were on total lockdown. We'd had to spread the story that me and the boys were headed out for a long camping trip. The few phone calls that'd been allowed had been monitored to make sure we didn't let slip what we were really up to. That meant very little of the standard precinct gossip got to us. The biggest chestnut was that Jack Savage was getting cranky, even kinda suspicious that Director Seraphine was withholding ZIA resources from his task force.

It kinda made us a little giddy that he didn't know why: that the ZIA was training a whole new special ops group in parallel to his task force. RACER. A team of cheetahs, springboks, and antelopes: the best sprinters around. Highly mobile, highly flexible, able to be deployed at a moment's notice. And all trained to counter Praetor combat tactics.

Of course, even the pride and distinction of working with the ZIA isn't enough to keep all of us on. The brutal training regimen also meant harsh attrition rates. A third of the applicants had to drop out due to nervous breakdowns, slow performance, or simply due to training-related injuries. Still, enough pulled through to satisfy the Director.

“We've got them,” Agent Buckthorn says all of a sudden. “Eighteen Praetors on the roofs, looks like a dozen henchmammals on the ground. We'll be dealing with the Praetors first, then rappelling down to take care of the goon squad. Now stims out, people. You should be getting assault vectors uploaded into your tactical goggles now.”

Pulling the goggles down over my eyes I blink as the overlay shows the target indicated with a red arrow. Uncapping the injection pen I jab it into my shoulder. With a pneumatic hiss I feel the cocktail of drugs flowing into me... all of a sudden it becomes even easier to breathe. My vision seems sharper and the ambient light grows brighter. My mind's racing like I'd just guzzled a pot of good coffee in one go, but it isn't that sort of disorganized and hyper sort of energy. No, it's calm. Focused.

Spot, Brody, and Clawson hunker down beside me in a lunging position, leaning down with their fingertips on the floor. The four cheetah brothers, they'd called us. Not that any of us are related of course. Then there's Agent Buckthorn and Officer Stagg: both antelopes. Pacewell and Duma, two Springboks.

“I swear, after we're done with this I'm going to the Seafood Buffet...” Brody says with a grin. “All you can eat smoked salmon.”

“Big ol' bag of BBQ chips for me, and I'm marathoning the Lord of the Rings trilogy,” I mutter back.

“RACER Alpha... GO!” Agent Buckthorn shouts, and as one we take off.

Getting from zero to sixty in five seconds is the bare minimum threshold for qualifying as a RACER, and after two months of training it's pretty easy to achieve that speed. But that kinda assumes level terrain and about a 330 meter stretch. Luckily you don't need to hit top speed to jump a ledge, especially when you have GPS and velocity calculators patched into your goggles.

Apparently Agent Mustela, the stoat on Savage's task force, had been the one who'd designed these. She did a damn fine job. As someone who took AP physics in high school I really gotta admire how these things are estimating distance, wind velocity, and acceleration in real time. The patch of ground ahead of me is lit with blue lines, and a pulsing green light flashes at the corners of my vision (not uncomfortably, mind you).

We'd had to train away any sense of hesitation. We'd had to shed our fears and instincts regarding self-preservation. Put your trust in the goggles, they'd said. Don't think about how high up you are. Just fucking _run_.

The lights pulse more quickly. I'm fifteen meters from the edge. The gentle flashes seem almost urgent now. Five meters. When the green light solidifies the distance has hit zero, and I plant a solid foot on the edge of the building and leap.

For a long, terrifying moment I'm hanging in the air, arms and legs still cycling. Down below the concrete ledge of the next building is rushing up to meet me, but my sprinter's instincts kick in and I allow just enough tension to remain in my muscles to land safely. The carbon fiber nanomesh tightens around my ankles and up along my calves, squeezing gently and warming as it absorbs the bulk of the impact. Landing feels cushy, almost soft, before my feet spring me forward with the momentum I'd earned.

We're over a kilometer away from our targets: enough distance to avoid being detected. Street-level transit would take us three minutes if you have to consider traffic in this area, and even longer for cops to reach the top floor... an eternity when it comes to emergency response.

The shortcut here is gonna take about 40 seconds.

Next to me, Brody flinches as we make the second leap.

If his training hasn't kicked in he's only got a sliver of a moment to pray, but both his instincts and his faith fail him. He drops out of sight and I hear his body slamming into the masonry.

I can only hope he's gotten enough of a grip on the ledge to climb his way back up. If not, we've been trained to grab onto the nearest drainage pipe or fire escape to keep from kissing the pavement. I can't worry about him though... all I can do, all _any_ of us can do, is run.

The air lashes against the fur around my face, but with the aerodynamic vest and leggings I feel like a greased eel slipping through water. It's thrilling... almost addictive. Everyone talks about the runner's high. I've experienced it before, but that's like comparing a high school kiss to a hard, angry fuck in the sheets.

Roads are for chumps. Stairs are for lesser mammals. There are no true paths anymore... every surface and hard edge has infinite possibilities and directions. Rooftops are my racetracks, gutters my handholds, marble columns and metal scaffolds my ropes and ladders. The entire City is my playground, and each building is just a jungle gym for me to climb and leap and slide off of.

The red mark for my target pulses as I make the final leap, and when I land, skidding to a halt, the carbon fiber ankle supports feel hot through my fur, like pleather that'd been laying in the sun all afternoon. I'm hot and panting, and the cold air feels like a thousand needles in my lungs.

In that instant the busy grid overlay fades. The map and the numbers vanish. In front of me are two foxes in business suits, crouched at the roof's edge with sniper rifles in paw. They look up, golden eyes widening in shock. One of them reaches into his coat pocket just as I whip out my pistol and fire.

The bullet pierces him right between the eyes, throwing the dead fox off the side. The canister he's pulled out drops to the floor, and upon impact it bursts into a cloud of smoke that covers their side of the roof.

“Get down!” Duma says, but he's a split-second too late in ducking. The Praetors on the other roof plug him in the head and chest, and he collapses to the ground, mouth agape as he dies.

We'd had two advantages coming into this: first, five teams of eight mammals each meant we outnumbered the Praetors two to one. Second, coming the way we had we'd been able to ambush the Praetors from behind. The element of surprise is rapidly diminishing as the foxes drop their rifles and switch to pistols.

I drop under the ledge for cover as bullets whiz past me overhead. There's no room for fear, no room for panicking over Brody or Duma. Especially not with the stims coursing through my veins and setting my brain on fire. But my paws are trembling as I stare into the gray-black cloud, smoke still pouring out of the canister on the ground.

“KATZEN!” someone shouts, and I turn around just in time to stare down the barrel of the Praetor's gun.

The gunshot sounds soft in my ears, especially compared to the ringing in my head when the bullet hits. It feels as if I'd just taken a hammer to the ribs, and that heavy jolt reverberates through my chest and through my heart. My mouth falls open when I hit the hard ground, and the breath pours from my lungs like a balloon being squeezed until it's close to popping.

The world's grown fuzzy, but in the distance I hear another couple of pops, and the sound of feet hitting the concrete.

Eyes bleary, I prop myself on my elbows and look up to see a wry Pacewell standing next to a dead fox.

“Little bastard hopped off the ledge and scurried along the windowsills. Just climbed up behind you when I noticed.”

“Thanks,” I croak, “You saved my life, man.”

“Well someone's gotta watch out for you cheetahs. Cats can be so single-minded,” Pacewell smirks, knowing I'd fallen for that smoke bomb as a distraction. Throughout training there's always been a good hunk of competition between the hoofers and the cheetahs on this team. “By the way, they recovered Brody. He's all right, just broke his arm in the fall.”

“He's gonna be pissed he missed out on the action.”

Pacewell glances over at Duma's body. The two had been from different precincts, but they'd grown fairly close these past two months.

“Well, you stay here. Wait for the medics,” he tells me, “Orders are we drop to assist on the ground once all the Praetors have been neutralized.”

I push myself up, rubbing my chest and trying to catch my breath. “I'll be fine. The vest took most of the impact.”

“You could have some broken ribs,” Pacewell says as the others check the dead foxes.

I chuckle darkly as I mull over the sight of the Praetors in their business suits. That's one plus when it comes to killing mobsters: they've conveniently dressed themselves for burial.

“This went faster than I expected,” the springbok mutters as Agent Buckthorn calls everyone together.

“We're RACERs,” I cough, pushing myself up to lean against a vent system. “Fast is what we do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter notes ahead: spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> One of my beta readers asked if Rufinius' dialogue here was a fourth-wall break regarding story structure. Fun thought, but it really isn't. I actually depended a lot on fairly thorough planning to get the main plot to work. What he's referring to here is classic military strategy. I've mentioned this before, but Rufinius' apparent ability to crush his opponents with Xanatos gambits is in large parts due to his ability to throw a wrench in the gears and take advantage of the chaos that results. A lot of his plots are short-term and ever-shifting, but all serve to meet his long-term goals. This makes him especially effective against government organizations such as the ZPD or the ZIA, which must operate by protocol and along a more bureaucratic command structure.
> 
> When I was still in the planning stages of this story, I came across this piece by bluedouble, and it became the basis for the RACERs here (Rapid Action Company for Emergency Response... I came up with the name, but he knows I'm using this as a reference):
> 
> https://bluedouble.deviantart.com/art/ZPD-Rapid-Responder-636816743
> 
> This chapter also answers (what I was hoping was) another mystery for the readers: why was ZIA Director Margot Seraphine refusing to give Jack any more ZIA resources? Well, now you know the answer. The ZIA was focused on forming a second elite team... one that was much more flexible and dynamic, able to be deployed in a situation like this one. We've also got a scene where a very minor background character gets a moment to contribute. Jeremy Katzen was Officer Katzen from Chapter 4, mentioned as being the one who came in just behind Judy at the obstacle course's finish line. I've been pretty eager to write this scene: parkour is sexy as hell.
> 
> Expect the next update in about a week!


	35. Escape From The Twilight Cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets the RACERs, Milo misses ice cream, Judy delivers.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

Miles is still breathing. I can feel his chest moving even as he keeps me pinned under him.

I try to squirm out of his grip, wriggling and trying to slip my body through the faintest bit of slack I can get. All around me I can hear my team dying, their screams ringing in my ears long after they've fallen silent. A Razorback falls, snorting and gurgling as the blood fills his throat. A wolf lets out a pitiful wail as he lies curled on the cold asphalt. A leopard offers terrified prayers in Tigrian as he huddles for cover.

Beneath it all, there's a buzzing sound.

It creeps on slowly, drowning out the cries of agony and the sounds of bullets pinging off of concrete. When I first notice it I have no idea what the hell it could be. I'm feeling dizzy, the world's boiling around me like hot mist. It's hard to breathe... am I having a panic attack? Or is the weight of Miles' body suffocating me?

It's dark and cold. My head lolls as I try to turn. The shadows lengthen into tall trees in a night-cloaked wood.

“ _You have to take Jack..._ ” Mom pleads. “ _Take him and go south. Just keep running as far as you can and keep heading towards Bunnyburrow..._ ”

And all of a sudden I'm hiding in that log again, covered in mud so the foxes wouldn't be able to track me by scent. I can only watch, small and trembling, as the Prodigal puts a gun to my mother's head and pulls the trigger. I can only sit there and cry as the Smiler takes my brother and goes to work with cheerful expertise, and his screams last long into the night.

Wait. Something's different.

The sound of bullets striking the cars nearby has lessened. The others have noticed too, and the officers still crouching for cover glance up hopefully.

And there- at one of the adjacent buildings, I see something: a red and gray blur falling from one of the rooftops like a rag doll. It smashes into the top of a van with a loud crunch of twisted metal and splintered glass.

A Praetor. Someone's taking out the Praetors.

“Friendlies approaching!” someone shouts from a distance. “Friendlies approaching!”

Elkredge groans as he rolls off of me, then props himself up and raises his head. My legs are shaky as I get to my feet, looking to the sound of the call. Down the street I see a team of eight mammals: cheetahs and antelopes, running toward us with paws raised to show they're not armed. Not that anyone could mistake them for Sanguinis of course. They wear bright blue form-fitting vests of soft kevlar and similarly tight leggings. The tactical goggles are familiar, I'd recognize ZIA tech anywhere. When they reach us they kneel down, unshouldering their first aid kits and immediately begin tending to the wounded.

“RACER Echo has reached the target,” the lead buck in charge says into his earpiece. “Repeat: We've reached Savage's team.”

“RACER?” I mutter in a daze.

“Rapid Action Company for Emergency Response. RACERs Alpha through Delta have two medics each, but Echo specializes in field medicine.”

They're getting to work immediately: conducting triage among the wounded officers, tying off tourniquets and taking out saline bags. All with the smooth professionalism and poise my own team once had. Looking at how they're operating now you wouldn't believe how fragile that sort of training and discipline could be... how, under too much pressure, it can fracture like glass and all that discipline is gone.

“Any word on the tactical situation?” Miles groans as he leans back against the side of the van.

“Praetor targets are being neutralized as we speak,” the antelope says, “RACER Delta took heavy casualties from what I heard: they're out of the fight. Alpha through Charlie are just mopping up and securing th-”

Someone lets rip a great snarl several meters away. Gunshots ring through the air, but in the next instant the body of a cheetah comes flying overhead and crashes into the window of a nearby SUV. He falls to the ground, limp. His blue kevlar vest is stained with blood, his head twisted almost completely around.

I stand up fully, legs still shaking. There, half a block away, stand three mammals. A lion, a grizzly bear, a thick-shouldered buffalo. I recognize them all from their criminal profiles... the mammals who'd been released from Highwatch, supposedly under the direction of Rufinius Frisk.

Their eyes are dilated, they're hunched over like beasts. The three stand over the bodies of several ZPD Officers and what's left of one of the RACER teams. None of them seem fazed in the slightest. It's almost as if the fear had been scoured from them, and all that is left is the urge to kill.

I aim my gun at them just as they begin their charge.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

Strawberry sherbet.

It first happened when I was maybe ten years old, when my stay-at-home Mom got an ice cream maker and went through a phase of making homemade ice creams. It usually didn't come out the right way... it was often too hard or the fats separated out of the cream, or there were little lumps of custard in it. She'd consulted with her circle of soccer moms, looked up tips and recipes online.

That was one of the few success stories, mom's strawberry and elderflower sherbet. I knew I was in for a treat when, on a hot summer's day, I'd hear the blender going with the hard gravelly sound of frozen fruit being pulverized. I'd race into the kitchen, and see Mom smile as she unscrewed the bottle of elderflower syrup. For a cub whose favorite flavor was ketchup, the complex mix of sweet and tart and floral was entirely new, and something I'd forever associate with my mom.

I'd never wanted anything else from that machine.

Mr. Frisk had delivered on his promise... he'd helped get my letter delivered to my mom in time. She'd sent me her love, told me to contact her on email and had given me her new number, but I hadn't had the courage to contact her since then. Plus, knowing Dad he might be checking her account and her call history. And if we were discovered I'd lose contact with her for good.

That's the one thing I think about now to keep me going. Not lingering on a future that'll never be. Not pining for all the bittersweet memories of times long lost. Something basic and simple and axiomatic, that I might be able to relive just by walking into the right ice cream parlor.

Strawberry sherbet. The taste of a mother's love.

I think about it when I wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat. Or in the long, dreadful minutes as the Prince finishes his wine before dismissing us from his bed. And I'm thinking about it now, as I crouch in the middle of an alley with Ollie, staring at the small blue tab in its plastic case.

“Take it...” he purrs. His eyes are big and wild, his pupils dilated to the point that his eyes are almost a solid black. “Fuckin' take it, man. It feels amazing.”

The color's different now, closer to turquoise than its original deep cerulean. Others have tested the stuff in the training room, felt the more tempered rage fueling them, sharpening their senses and boosting their strength and agility to new peaks without the risk of them losing their minds completely. Not me, though. Never again.

Strawberry sherbet.

All the other henchmammals have charged, wreaking havoc among the ZPD officers who've been managing crowd control. I can still hear Dr. Rhona rattling off the numbers in her thick brogue. Aim against moving targets improved by 23%. Agility improved by 37%. Strength improved by 12%. Stamina improved by 82%. Cognitive impairment 7%.

It isn't the drug searing through Ollie's brain that's made him so crazy now. It's been happening for a long time. The trial, our time in prison, being trained by a bunch of fox mobsters and sent out on missions where we had to kill... all of it had chipped away at his sanity. Day by day the cocksure football player was being carved into someone new.

I remember what it felt like running beside him and Cal on the field... we felt invincible. No one could take us down, not even the Rough Riders. After that victory we'd get our first pick of the spoils, pounding the cheerleaders lined up just for us as the other players cheered us on. But unlike Cal or Ollie I couldn't get into it. I could never drink fully the sweetness of our win or the pleasure of the moment the way they did.

Something had always held me back from truly becoming one of them.

Ollie's embraced it... the hot tingle of each kill, the coppery sweetness of blood. Sure he'd been an asshole, but once there'd been something tying him down that kept him from going completely off the rails.

The Praetors had turned him. The Prince had turned him. Pleasure and pain... that's what they taught. That's all that we needed to know.

“Take it already!” he snarls through his crazed grin.

“I- I can't!”

My paws are trembling. My breaths are coming out in panicked huffs. Beyond the alley we're huddled in I can hear the sounds of bullets pinging off of metal, the screams of the ZPD officers, gunshots cracking through the air.

Ollie cups my cheeks with his paws then, the same way he'd held my face the night before as he pressed his kisses into my muzzle. I can feel the hot breath on me now, laced with the licorice-like aroma of weapons-grade Blue. For a moment I'm terrified that he's gonna dig in with his claws and add fresh scars to my already-mangled face, but his grip is tender. Affectionate.

“We're doing this together, Milo...” he purrs. “Come on, man. I love you.”

For the rest of my short life, I'll never hear those last three words from anyone else.

I'm fucking terrified, trembling from head to toe. At Ollie's urging though I press my finger into the small tab. A thin residue of sweat helps it cling to the tip, and I bring it to my mouth.

I twitch. In the last moment, I palm the tab of Blue.

Switching fingers, I lick an empty pawpad. As I let my arm fall to my side I flick it with my thumb. The Blue falls away like a dead leaf and drifts, unseen, to the concrete.

“Atta boy...” Ollie grins, still staring into my eyes. He unholsters his gun and urges me to do the same. “I fuckin' love you, Milo. Once these fuckers are dead we celebrate, I promise.”

He holds my paw for a moment, and as he races off to join the firefight I feel his fingers slipping away from mine.

We used to run together, me and Ollie and Cal. Fresh turf beneath our feet, the smell of newly-cut grass in our nostrils. Three cats, fucking invincible on the field, able to take down a goddamn rhino. I'd worshiped them, I'd wanted to _be_ one of them. Once I'd finally gotten into their inner circle I'd bonded with them in sweet, confusing, unspeakable ways. I'd thought I'd run with them forever.

Strawberry sherbet.

He crouches beside a pickup truck, gun raised and scanning for a target, when all of a sudden Oliver glances back at me from fifteen feet off. He blinks, brow furrowed, not quite understanding why his loyal little buddy had hung back at the last moment.

“Milo?”

The crack of gunfire rings in my ears.

His head's thrown to the side as the bullet rips through his eye socket. For a moment Oliver flails, paws twitching. The muzzle of his gun flashes as he spasms and fires straight into the air. His knees crack into the concrete, and for a moment his body's turned to face me. Slumped against the side of that pickup, half his face a shredded mass of exposed bone and brain and blood, his mouth nonetheless moves, almost like he's muttering my name one last time.

I stare, jaw dropping as his body gives a few final twitches, and falls still.

“Hostile down!” someone shouts. Someone in a ZPD uniform races over to check that Oliver's truly dead. Behind him is a cheetah wearing goggles and a blue vest.

Their backs are facing me.

For one wild, insane moment I get the urge to lift my arm, just point it at them and pull the trigger. Pop, pop... one in the back of each skull. Nice and quick. Whether it was for vengeance or a death wish I'll never know, because the numbness of the moment quickly gives way to panic.

The pistol slips from my fingers, and before either Officer notices it clattering on the ground I've turned and started to make my escape, practically scrambling on all fours.

I'm running again. But this time I'm alone.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

_A cloud of dust rises up from the field as Joel slides into third base._

_“SAFE!”_

_Buster's one of the jocks in the family, so he's always being called to act as umpire whenever there's a game. It's a small, casual round of baseball that a couple of the younger litters had thrown together, so there aren't many viewers in the stands right now. I know it isn't really Nick's thing, sports... but the kits had invited him to watch, and being the polite guest he is he hadn't hesitated in saying yes._

_Frankly, I suspect they wanted to put on a game just to impress the two new visitors in the warren._

_Dixie is sitting further down in the stands, cuddling up with Herb Thumper from across the river. Sis had only told me about their engagement last night. Hadn't wanted to spoil my homecoming, she'd said._

_This was big news though: a good hunk of us in Bunnyburrow tend to get married right out of school. My older siblings definitely did. The fact that me, Dixie, Clover, and Stacey hadn't even gotten boyfriends over the years kinda earned us a certain reputation for being relentlessly single._

_I guess the fact that me and my sisters all had **that** in common made it even harder for us to make any moves in terms of relationships. That is, no one wanted to stand out by being the first to break from that trait that kinda tied us together._

_Not that we were all that determined to find romance or anything. I'd always been focused on my career, Dixie had been too much of a tomboy, Clover had always been shy and bookish, and Stacey... well... let's just say she'd always been a bit too wild and free-spirited to settle down with anyone._

_And there's Dixie, three rows down in front of me with a ring on her finger._

_I should be keeping my eye on the game, but my sister and her beau are really cuddling up there, holding each other tight and mushing their cheeks together. He rubs his nose against the middle of Dixie's forehead, and Dixie chins his shoulder in turn._

_It's been like this ever since I got back from Zootopia, the culture shock of coming back home. The warrens seem so much smaller than I remembered, and everyone is so much more **physical**. In the City, mammals preferred keeping a certain shell of personal space around themselves. I'd spent months training myself to respect that, but coming back now all those familiar little touches between friends and family really stand out._

_Have I gotten **that** aloof? I mean I'd gotten used to sleeping on my own; **that** had been a real challenge. But... looking at Dixie and Herb now, there's this big storm of feelings in me._

_I'm happy for her of course... I mean, I hadn't heard a peep about their relationship so it came as a surprise, but I know Dixie had been wanting to start her own family. Plus it's about time the girls in our litter got hitched. Hopefully it'd quiet the gossip about us being old maids in our mid-twenties._

_But then I think about Clover and Stacey. Neither of them ever planned to settle down, and this would just put more pressure on them to find partners already. I know from personal experience how hard it can be wanting to live your own life... one that's different from what your family expects._

_And then I glance at Nick out from the corner of my eye. We're sitting together sure, but while Dixie and Herb are practically glued to each other there's about two inches of space between me and Nick, and right now those two inches feel like a massive gulf between us. He's focused on the game, cheering the kits on as one of them hits the ball far into the left field._

_He used to flinch when I'd hold his paw, and he'd be so stiff even with a casual hug. Even now when I give him those little touches that are supposed to happen between lovers he's slow to respond._

_As a bunny I really don't know how to feel about that. Looking at the pair below me now, I know that me and Nick would never become that sort of couple. If... if we ever get that far. I mean I'm trying to respect his space, but... I just **need**..._

_No. No, why am I thinking about this? We only just started dating, after all... I can't just expect Nick would feel the same way about me. This is a trial period, right? Wait, **is** this a trial period? He'd always taken me out to show me the sights of the City... once we got together it was much of the same except now with kissing and cuddling and sex in the mix. There's always been this complex chemistry between us, a fox and a bunny dating. But now I'm starting to wonder if it maybe we'd just rushed into this. I'd always felt we'd gotten along so smoothly, but what if Nick feels all the rough edges in our relationship that I'd missed?_

_I'm so lost in my thoughts that it catches me by surprise when I feel his arm around me._

_At first it's like being hugged by a mannequin... just... flat and unnatural. But then I feel the muscles beneath his arm shifting, and Nick takes a long, smooth breath before he pulls me closer. My thigh presses against his, and he pulls me close so my cheek rests against his chest. A bit of nervous energy spikes through me for a split-second. Maybe it's some ancient, long-buried fear us bunnies have towards predators, though I can't deny that the thrill adds a certain spice to the moment._

_I'm flushed from the tips of my ears down to my toes... partly from embarrassment, but mostly from relief. My heart's beating like a drum, and the insides of my ears feel warm. I wrap my arms around his skinny middle and hug him back, smiling as bit by bit the two of us settle into the cuddle, mirroring the two bunnies in front of us._

_It takes a couple minutes to adjust, but once I get over the initial awkwardness of hugging him in full public sight of my family I begin to wonder what I'd been so worried about._

_“It's not fair, you know...” I murmur into his chest._

_He looks down at me, his mouth curved in that lopsided smile that makes him look so smug. But then his eyes widen, pupils shrinking back and he tenses. Nick looks down at Dixie, then back at me. Then back at Dixie. And me again._

_“No!” I laugh, suddenly realizing how that must've sounded in context. Did Nick **really** think I expected him to propose right now? “It's just... you always know how I feel. What I'm thinking. What I need.”_

_I run a paw over his arm. He'd noticed my reaction to Herb and Dixie, hadn't he? He usually wouldn't put an arm around me out of the blue like this. And never in public. “But y'know... it really isn't fair. I never know what's going on in **your** head.”_

_“You could always ask,” he grins. Jeez, Stacey really is ruining me. I can't help but notice how sexy those pearly white fangs are now._

_“Would you tell me the truth, though?”_

_“Always, Carrots,” he says, planting a kiss between my ears. “Except of course when I'm lying. Gotta keep things interesting somehow.”_

_“Dumb fox...” I smirk._

_“Sly bunny.”_

 

~~~~~

 

“Nnngh...”

I clutch my middle and wince as I prop myself up. He'd dashed straight at me from the shadows, and the strike had come so quickly that the breath was knocked outta me before I felt the impact.

The last moments before I blacked out come back to me in bits and pieces. He was holding me in the crook of his arm as he ran, mammals were shouting at Nick to put me down. The sound of gunshots were muffled as I began to slip out of consciousness, like I was hearing them from the bottom of a pool.

I could barely breathe with how tightly he was clutching me... but all of a sudden I was out of his arms, limp and as a rag doll. And that's when everything went dark.

It's still _dark_. It doesn't help that I'm dizzy, and all my senses are dulled. There's this ringing in my ears, and it's pitch black. Even when I wave my paw in front of my face I can't see anything.

My fur prickles and I wrap an arm around myself. The metal floor is cold. How long had I been out?

There's a dull, throbbing pain in the back of my head, and I rub it with my paw. My back hurts too. Must've hit something when I landed. Where are the other Officers? The Agents?

I grope for my shoulder-mounted flashlight, but the plastic frame comes apart in my paw.

“No...” I groan, rubbing my head and trying to clear the cotton that'd been packed into my skull. “Oh _no_...”

Wait. My phone. I feel around in my pocket but it must've slipped out. I grope along the floor, trying to feel for it. My paws hit a hard metal edge, and feeling around I realize it's an empty shelf. My nose twitches at the familiar smell of catnip and soil.

My fingers brush against my phone then, though for a moment I accidentally knock it aside. Scrabbling for it though I finally grab my cellphone, and when the screen blooms to life at the press of a button I turn on the flashlight.

The ringing in my ears is beginning to recede, and I blink as I take in my surroundings. A small, metal room not much bigger than my apartment. Empty metal shelves, and a big solid steel door on the opposite wall, though it's pitted with rust here and there. Wait... am I locked in a _safe_?!

Damn it, Nick. What did you do? How could you leave me like this?

No handle on the inside. I'm hardly claustrophobic... living in Bunnyburrow you get used to small spaces. But with a room this solid, built to keep mammals out and valuables in... and the only way to get me out is to know the combination, or maybe a blowtorch...

But there are no air vents. The only supply of oxygen I have is in here.

Oh no. No no _NO_!

I start to pound at the door. With my tiny paws the taps I make must sound so small and pathetic from the outside, if anyone can hear me at all. The ringing in my ears is beginning to recede, and I think I hear something on the other side, even through the steel. It's a low, muffled sound... maybe multiple voices, though I can hardly make out anything anyone is saying.

And then the door begins to click. Someone's turning the dial.

I step back then, pulling out my firearm. A cold shiver runs down my spine. I want to stay positive, I want to cling to hope, but I can't be entirely sure that the mammal on the other side is friendly. For all I know the Sanguinis had beaten back the task force and are coming to retrieve me.

I'd gone through the ZIA files Jack had given to me. Read as much as I could. Some details were too nauseating, too _personal_ to do anything but skim past. Some of those photos I'd seen had been burned into my mind. In my training I've had to learn how to handle gruesome crime scenes, but what I saw in that folder has probably been burned into my mind.

I see him then, with his back to me. That green Pawaiian shirt, his dark ears flat against his skull like he's still mad at me. Nick's turning around, and through the haze of tears I see that warm and forgiving smile and the carrot pen in his paw. The sun hits his face just right, and his fur is so red and warm.

“ _Don't worry, Carrots. I'll let you erase it... in forty-eight hours._ ”

There's no smugness. No sass. Just a fox who was glad to see his friend again.

My grip tightens on the handle of my firearm, my finger just barely touching the trigger.

With a loud clack, the sound of metal bars sliding away, the door opens. There, covered in dust and with half her face stained with blood, is an anxious-looking tiger.

“Furlong!” I squeak, lowering my RGS-14 and re-engaging the safety.

I rush over to her, gripping her leg. My heart rate won't be going down for a while.

“How'd you know the combination?” I ask, giving her a good squeeze.

“It... it was written on a sticky note, stuck on the door...” she says in a dazed feline rumble. “You okay, Hopps? When Wilde came at you... we didn't know what...”

And that's when I smell it. Something burnt and mineral-ey, like someone had set off a hundred firecrackers.

Raising my cellphone light I push past Furlong's leg. Large hunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling. The Officers down the hall and in the other rooms are laying against the walls having their injuries tended to. Beams of light flit up and down the halls as Officers wander in a dust-covered daze.

“Hopps...” Furlong says as she limps behind me. “Hopps, wait...”

The breath freezes in my throat as I explore further. It's a disaster zone... stone and rubble is scattered across the hallway, while partially collapsed regions are littered with heavy masonry. Paintings had fallen from their places on the walls, and the air is filled with the groans of the wounded.

Furlong's calling after me to stop, but I pick up the pace to survey the damage.

I freeze when I enter what looks like the dining hall. A large pool of blood lies beside a broken chandelier that'd fallen from the ceiling, along with large red streaks that lead to one corner. There, under silk tablecloths and old tapestries, are the bodies of several officers.

My lungs seize up. It feels like some large fist has gripped me around the chest and is squeezing the air out of my body. I can feel the dust in the air coating my tongue, tickling the back of my throat.

“Hopps...” Furlong says, finally catching up to me. “Hopps, easy...”

“Nick...” I whisper to myself. “Nick... you couldn't... you'd... never...”

I sniffle, scrubbing my eyes with the back of my paw. This can't be real. It wasn't supposed to happen like this!

“As far as we can tell, the hallways had been booby-trapped to collapse...” Furlong says, crouching down next to me. “The explosions in the larger chambers at the front entrance took out a good hunk of Alpha Squad. Beta and... and Gamma didn't... they didn't get hit quite as...”

She trails off at that. She must've realized how absurd it sounds. Squad names and team assignments... all the formal designations we'd been given under the task force's command structure... none of that matters now. Nothing puts you all on equal footing quite like being trapped underground.

“What's the damage?” I murmur. My tongue feels thick, and speaking is a struggle in itself.

“We're still counting. Maybe a dozen killed, way more injured. Hard to know for sure... the tunnels we'd come through have completely collapsed. Same with some of the halls along the interior. Agent Wallaby says some parts of the Cathedral are cut off, so we've got some isolated pockets where there still might be some survivors. If those chambers hadn't collapsed entirely, that is.”

Several Officers trudge past us, their sleeves torn for makeshift bandages. A wolf from one of the branch districts glances at me, his expression haunted. Seeing fellow ZPD officers so scared, so _broken_... my legs give out from under me, and I collapse to the floor.

“Come on,” says Furlong, picking me up by the collar.

“Wh-!” I let out a little spasm, but she hushes me as she holds me in the crook of her arm, carrying me along as she follows the others. I've never had anything against Furlong, but right now she's treating me like I'm some stuffed animal. The spike of annoyance helps bring me out of my fugue, just a little.

We come into a large audience chamber, probably the biggest one in the Twilight Cathedral. The damage seems to be minimal, though looking up at the ceiling the plaster is more cracked than I'd like. Living in a rabbit warren you learn how to spot weaknesses in underground architecture. Still, the rest of the Cathedral is likely worse off.

Standing in the center of it is a kangaroo ZIA Agent. I'd seen him occasionally during shift changes, but I'd never caught his name until now.

“All right everyone,” says Agent Wallaby. “We came down here with eighty mammals, I plan on getting everyone back out. There's no doubt that Agent Savage's group felt the explosions, but for now communications are completely cut off. So here's what we d-”

“Who put you in charge?” a lion Officer growls from the corner. He's sitting on the floor, nursing what looks like a broken arm.

There are a couple dozen ZPD Officers here, including the ones who are too injured to stand. The tension is thick as yesterday's oatmeal, and I can hear the whispers and the growls of discontentment. As far as they knew the ZIA were to blame for leading them into this predicament.

Wallaby shifts his weight and surveys the room, though it's obvious he's trying not to look nervous.

I climb out of Furlong's grip and step forward to make the first move. Straightening up, I stand at attention and face the Agent.

“What are your orders, Sir?”

I can feel the dozens of eyes on me. Glad I have my back to most of them though... my nose is twitching like crazy. Thankfully it works, and with me being the first to defer to Wallaby everyone else falls in line. Not without a little more grumbling, though.

Wallaby gives me a measuring look. Unlike the ZPD officers gathered here, he'd know that I was the one who'd convinced Jack to trust Nick when it came to planning this raid.

The thought is like a knife in my chest. How could I have been so _wrong_?

“Well...” Agent Wallaby continues, “first off, I want any mammals familiar with underground architecture to check which rooms are least at risk of further collapse. ZIA Agents with experience in bomb disposal will then check for any live ordinances that somehow remained, and once the area is secure we'll move our injured there. Once that's done, we'll try to very carefully dig to any areas of the Cathedral that've been cut off to rescue any survivors. Savage should reestablish contact with us well before then and we'll coordinate from there. Is that clear?”

The response is begrudging at best, but everyone seems to be in complete agreement with the plan. I'm about to step forward and offer my help with being part of the structural scouting them when Furlong interrupts.

“Sir? If I may, I have a suggestion.”

“What is it, Officer?”

Furlong meets my eye when I turn to look at her. “Officer Hopps... she's in the best position to get in touch with our people outside. When... when the Praetor grabbed her, he escaped through a small chute. She's probably the only one here small enough to fit through.”

'Praetor,' she'd said. I don't know whether to feel grateful that Furlong didn't mention Nick by name, or horrified knowing that's what he probably is now.

Agent Wallaby stares at her for a moment. “Show me.”

Furlong leads us back to the concrete room with the giant safe. Sure enough, there in the corner is a small trapdoor, about a foot on a side. It'd be a bit of a squeeze even for a fox, and for any larger mammals it was impossible to get through.

“We have no idea where this leads,” Wallaby says, scratching his chin. “Chances are you'd be walking straight into a Sanguinis den.”

“Agent Wallaby, how long would it take for the ZIA to reestablish contact with us?” I ask.

“We're forty feet underground. Depends on how much damage there is to the surrounding tunnels. Could be hours... days, even.”

“We've got wounded in here,” says Furlong. “A lot of 'em are pretty critical. If they don't get treated soon...”

Wallaby sighs. “Then I'm sorry to do this, Hopps. But I'm going to have to order you in there. If there's the slightest chance...”

As if he had to ask. “Don't be sorry, Sir. I'll do my job.”

I switch shoulder-mounted flashlights with Agent Wallaby. With my firearm in paw, I take a deep breath, and climb down.

About eight feet below there's another hole about a foot on each side, and slipping through I drop into an arched hallway. The masonry here is rough. The air is cold and dry, completely silent like a tomb. Even though she can't possibly reach me to help I know Furlong at least is crouching next to the hole, listening for if I run into trouble.

 _Clawhauser would love this_... I think to myself. _Just like one of his D &D games, exploring an ancient dungeon_.

My heart's beating like a drum, so hard that I can almost feel it hammering against my chest plate. In the back of my mind I can hear Packard voicing his concern again... worried about the scant armor I've got. I can only hope he's still alive. I hadn't seen him among the survivors, but there's a chance that I'd missed him, or he's trapped in one of the isolated chambers.

With how narrow this hallway is I don't have much room to make full use of my agility if I do run into trouble, and with foxes and their night vision and their ability to sniff me out... chances are if any Praetors are in here I'd be dead.

About twenty feet ahead, the hall branches into three corridors.

Oh no. It's a goddamn _maze_.

Swallowing, I remove my badge. Using pointed base I etch an arrow into the stone, pointing back to where I'd come from.

Taking a left turn I continue down.

Exploring these tunnels gives me time to think about the situation.

How could you, Nick? How could you possibly do this? You were supposed to be _different_. You were supposed to be so _trustworthy_.

I mean, was he under duress? He couldn't have been bribed, that was for sure. Nick was a con artist, but he'd only ever wanted to get enough money so he could scrape by. Getting rich just wasn't on his radar, not if he was happy to get a job at the ZPD.

Or had he been a member of the Vulpes Sanguinis this whole time? Was this all part of some long con, getting into the ZPD so he could help take us down from the inside? I have to take moment and stop when that thought crosses my mind, because I start to have trouble breathing and I need to lean against the wall and gather myself. I'm tearing up, and in this state I can't see straight or aim for crap if I _do_ run into a Praetor.

I'd invited him to my _home_. Watched as he'd played with the kits. He'd met my family, sat down to dinner with my littermates, my _parents_...

No. It's impossible. It couldn't have _all_ been a lie. The way he'd held me, the way he'd kissed me, some of it _had_ to have been real.

No. Focus.

Lucky for me the twists and turns weren't extensive enough for intruders to get _completely_ lost in here. The false tunnels and dead ends are short enough that it doesn't take long to backtrack. Best I can tell it's just simple delaying tactic: get pursuers to waste precious minutes searching around so the Sanguinis could make their escape. I mark off the false tunnels, and with my natural bunny senses I have no trouble navigating.

It doesn't take long before I reach a proper metal door.

I press my ear to it, try to pick up anything suspicious. All I hear though is running water, though it's faint and distant.

 _That_ perks me up.

With my firearm in paw I tug the latch, and push my way through.

This time the shaft runs upward. Not knowing if the door locks or not, I pin my badge into the seam of the door to keep it propped open, and climb up the ladder. Every ten feet or so there's a ledge and another ladder, and by the time I climb up the third one I just need to push up a big slab and nudge it aside.

The sewers. I'm actually in the sewers proper.

By my estimates I'm about a block south from the heart of the Twilight Cathedral, which means If I turn right...

I scramble down the big stone tunnel and head towards the first shaft of daylight I see. A storm drain, more than big enough for me to squeeze through.

When I finally pull myself out of the sewers I'm on the edge of the barricaded zone that Jack had set up to keep civilians away. Emergency responders are all over the place, the flashing red and blue lights of the ambulances the beacons of a nasty aftermath. I get a few glances from fellow Officers and ZMS workers as I head toward the reserve unit's base of operations. That's my best chance of finding Jack. But along the way I see the body bags, the bloodstains, the uniformed Officers sitting on the curb with blankets over their shoulders, sobbing into their paws or clenching cups of warm tea. Their eyes stare blankly into the distance.

Jack is leaning against the side of a squad car as I approach, arms crossed over his body. He's also in a daze, mouth moving as if he's muttering under his breath. Dark rings encircle his eyes. It's always been an open secret that Jack's lucky to get an hour or two of sleep a night, if that.

Even with my crucial message I hesitate a moment before I approach him. I've never seen him so fragile.

“Judy...” he says as he turns to face me. “Y-you're... I...”

He swallows. His eyes are bloodshot, and he gazes past me with this haunted thousand-yard stare. “Adrienne... she's...”

“Jack, I just got out of the Twilight Cathedral. The Sanguinis had trapped it, used explosives to collapse the tunnels,” I begin, but for some reason it's starting to get hard to breathe. “We've got Officers and Agents down there and dozens are wounded and there's a secret entrance, but the tunnels are pretty small so we'd have to get some small-sized mammals to set up a medical team to get them in and- and...”

My ears twitch at the sound of a zipper. Glancing off to the side I catch the last bit of Officer Loupin's face as he's they close up the body bag.

Loupin. The guy always loved parasailing. Offered to take me and Nick along with his wife someday for a couples thing. That's dangerous, wrapping him in plastic. Loupin can't breathe in there, he could suffocate. I step forward to stop them from covering up his face as if I hadn't seen the blood or the glassy eyes, because all I can think about is the time he brought his son into the precinct for Papa-Pup day.

And then I feel the pair of arms wrap around me, and hear the wail that's coming from my own throat. Even with my training, even with my discipline... I've hit my limit.

I slump to the ground in Jack's arms, and I let myself cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I think I'm definitely getting better at writing Judy. I used to think that writing a solid female character was all about balancing both strength and exploring the contrasting duality of her as a person. It was certainly an important feature of contemporary literature 20-30 years ago, where the idea that women can be just as strong as men was a lesson that still needed to be pushed. In this day and age though it kind of goes without saying and this sort of approach comes off as a bit trite.
> 
> I think that's what's so interesting about Zootopia as a film though. In the beginning you assume that it's just a relatively simple story about a bunny wanting to prove herself to the world. That she can be just as competent a cop as everyone else, using her unique talents as a bunny (which can also be construed as a somewhat cliched exploration of "strong female character" I noted above). But then it switches gears to something more mature, and simply accepts the fact that Judy is capable as a given.
> 
> In the last few chapters we've been seeing the three main protagonists Nick, Judy, and Jack being pushed to their breaking points. In this chapter we're seeing Judy's progressive, optimistic worldview come crashing down around her ears yet again. How these three recover and fight back is coming up soon.
> 
> This chapter kinda hits home for me too. I was really really close to ground zero of a fairly major terrorist attack in the US, and for me this chapter was a way for me to mull over the shock and trauma I saw the community experience. For most people life goes on fairly quickly, but it still really shakes things up and puts a dark cloud over the city for a while. Especially for those who were at the epicenter.
> 
> And yes, poor Jack is having some major PTSD flashbacks here. Expect an update sometime next week.


	36. Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits some old friends, has a drink, and has a vigorous chat with Judy.
> 
> (WARNING: This chapter contains dark themes that some may find triggering)
> 
> Relevant song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7j8wa9sWOE
> 
> EDIT (12/31/2017): So turns out I've been reported for violating AO3's TOS because I underestimated how much time it takes for song lyrics to enter the public domain, and as per AO3's rules I'm trimming down the amount of lyrics I'm using from "Dream A Little Dream." The song is 86 years old, first published in 1931, so it'll be a little more than 8 years before the copyright expires. I'll restore the original version in 2026 if possible, because IMO the cadence of the chapter really is improved by the inclusion of those lyrics so they're pretty crucial.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“ _Tyse Loupin... Brenton Ramure... Cynthia Fangmeyer..._ ”

I repeat the names one after another. It isn't the first time I've done this, but each time I make a list I hope to god it's the last.

A team of small mammal doctors had been sent through the tunnels Judy had discovered, along with a team of moles to get in touch with those in the blocked-off areas and figure out how to dig them all out. They're still taking a census of the survivors.

Nineteen dead at the last count. Nineteen of the best ZPD officers and Razorbacks and ZIA agents, not counting the RACER members. The number is likely to triple.

One by one I carve their names across my memory. My muttering is a soft whisper, but each name I utter feels like the tip of a jagged scalpel scraping along the inside of my skull.

I press the blade deeper for two names in particular. I can almost feel my mind bleeding.

“ _Lenny Packard... Adrienne Mustela..._ ”

They've yet to find Lenny's body, but it's only a matter of time. I'll never have to put up with his dirty jokes again, or conveniently ignore the fact that he browses porn while he waits for his PCR gels to run. I'll never have to snap my fingers to catch her attention, or prod her to put down whatever electronics she's fiddling with to get to work on a priority task.

There's never been so many before. Never such a big failure. There's going to be an investigation, and chances are Seraphine is gonna clip my ears for this... but there's so much to do still. Seventeen Sanguinis Praetors have been killed. A dozen or so henchmammals killed or captured. We have that at least. No thanks to me of course, but for the sake of the mission, we have that.

The halls of the ZPD are empty. There are only a few clerks around at this time of night, and most of the officers in the district are off dealing with the aftermath of this catastrophe. Several had psychological breakdowns and had to be put on leave. But I can't afford to rest or heal or talk to a therapist. I need to stay strong. I need to focus.

The mission. I need to focus on the mission.

I push through the double doors to the morgue, and the smell of formalin and ethanol stings my nostrils. It's a good smell, harsh and astringent. Nothing like the smell of smoke and sulfur, the harsh tang of smoldering metal and concrete, or the savory stench of roasting flesh like the greasy fumes of a Bug Burga joint.

The snow leopard on duty is wearing a labcoat and a face mask, and she looks up at me. There isn't a trace of surprise at my unexpected arrival.

For an instant I'm about to ask where Lenny is. I want to tell her- no, _demand_ that I expected _him_ to do the autopsy.

Reality is like stepping into an icy puddle... a sharp chill cuts through my annoyance, as embarrassing as it is uncomfortable.

“Good evening Agent Savage,” Dr. Therona greets me, “I didn't expect you. I was going to give my report in the morning.”

“It's fine, Therona,” I say, standing up straight. There. I'm always in control. I won't be painted as an emotional bunny that can't handle the pressure. “I'm sure you can imagine there aren't too many reports for me to sift through right now. I'm just trying to stay on top of any details I can get.”

There aren't too many reports of course because about a third of my task force is now dead, and most of the survivors are either in shock or in the hospital.

My excuse for being here in the morgue is a thin one as well. I just needed to come to the one place in the City where I can get some solitude. I just needed a little time to brood and be alone, with those that won't judge me for my mistakes.

Fat chance of that, of course. The dead judge me like everyone else. But at least I know for certain they'll be quiet about it.

“Of course, Agent Savage,” Therona says politely. “I'll need you to authorize a full autopsy, but I feel the examination so far is fairly straightforward. Our John Doe... well, John Buck rather... is a young rabbit, somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, though he's been well taken care of. Quite pleasant to work with, really. Most of the bodies I need to examine aren't so nice to look at.”

She lifts the tarp covering the corpse.

At first the assorted features are like those on any other rabbit I've seen. White fur, pink nose, long ears. But then there's the shape of his muzzle, the curve of his mouth, and the eyes. Large, violet eyes that'd been beautiful once, but are now misted over in death. He's cold and limp, and the way his body is so slack makes it seem as if he isn't a corpse at all, but something completely inert. Like a pretty doll. Therona's right... as one of Rufinius' prized sex slaves he has a soft, graceful form to him, but that's not what I see.

His features coalesce, and as I take in his face I start to recognize him.

“The body was recovered from the warehouse your team first broke through, stored in a barrel. One of the mammals conducting forensics in the area uncovered it. When he smelled a bunny he hoped it was still alive, but... well,” she shrugs. “By the muscle tone he must've expired a few days ago, but the condition of the body is quite well-preserved. I can only presume he'd been placed in cold storage shortly after he was killed.”

My heart comes to a complete stop. The blood freezes in my veins.

“This was found next to him as well,” Therona says, indicating the black rose sitting in an evidence bag on the table. Its the edges of each petal is fringed with blood-red, like the smoldering edges of a sheet of burning paper. A Sanguine Shadow. The calling card for the Vulpes Sanguinis whenever they make a kill.

My paw feels numb and unsteady as I reach for it, like it belongs to some other mammal. Someone else is caressing that plump, still-dewy flower.

“Cause of death was strangulation. From the bruising along the neck I would say it was performed by a mammal on the low end of medium-sized, most likely a fox. I've determined from the pattern of bruising and pinpricks left by the claws that it was done by the right paw, but endoscopic examination revealed more extensive damage to the larynx, which means the left paw also had a grip over the right.”

Pathologists are so remarkable, aren't they? The way they sound so clinical. How they so easily reduce a mammal to punctures and bruises and burns and organs. I'd never truly considered the callousness of it before. There'd been a whole life story once, in the body that lies before me. Therona though is only interested in the epilogue.

“Internal examination also found a substantial amount of semen inside him.”

“Semen,” I say flatly.

“I sent the DNA out for rush sequencing,” Therona continues, tapping a pen against her clipboard casually. She's so nonplussed. How can she be so calm? So divorced from what's lying on the slab? “It belongs to none other than our very own Nicholas Wilde. Well, you know what they say about foxes, but...”

She clears her throat. “Sorry. I shouldn't make light.”

“It's fine,” I murmur. Honestly, Lenny would've made the same joke.

“There are no signs of abuse or trauma aside from the strangulation, so it's quite possible the sex was consensual. Or as consensual as it can be in this situation. I'm not ruling out a postmortem insemination of course, but I don't believe Nick was ever interested in that sort of thing.”

_Semen._

_Nick Wilde._

_Postmortem insemination._

_Consensual._

_Situation._

The words tumble through my head, and like an oncoming tide every single one of the names I'd worked so hard to engrave into my memory is washed away like marks in the sand.

“And you're certain it was Nick Wilde?”

“I'm waiting on the confirmation tests to make sure, but I'm quite positive, yes.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor.”

“Of course, Agent Savage,” Therona says with a polite nod. “I'll give you full report in the morning, so unless you'd like to stay and watch I'll be continuing with the examination. Hopefully the dental records or DNA will help us identify our John Doe.”

“That won't be necessary. And he's not a John Doe,” I say, turning to leave.

“His name was Andy.”

 

~~~~~

 

Andy.

Frightened, violet eyes. Mud-spattered paws. The mouthed words, “ _keep quiet._ ” Up until that moment I'd never known that such bravery was possible in a rabbit. Not before a fox. But then came the screams, the pleas for mercy...

I don't even realize I'd made it to my office. One moment I was stepping out of the morgue, and in the muddled fugue I'd been lost in I'd wandered straight to this door. Blinking, I turn the knob and enter.

Taking out my phone, I flick through my browser, searching for an old song I would've never added to my playlist. A song I couldn't bear to listen to ever since I was a kit. Pressing the play button, I set my phone on my desk and unbutton my jacket.

 

_Stars shining bright above you..._

_Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you..'_

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree..._

_Dream a little dream of me._

 

I fold my jacket and lay it neatly over my chair. I keep the lights off, but even in the dim light from the hall flooding through the window I can see my reflection in the glass. I loosen my tie a little, undo the first button of my shirt, then return to my desk and pull open the bottom drawer, taking out a crystal tumbler and my bottle of 1922 Claremont cognac. Three thousand bucks a bottle, only two hundred of these in the world. Well, one hundred and ninety-two, if I tick off the ones I've helped polish off.

It'd been so long ago. Everything before that horrible night is a faded blur. The memories are all dinged and dented, and reaching back is like trying to remember an old dream.

I can't remember what they looked like. I can't even remember how they _smelled_ , but I knew that their scents had once been sweet and familiar.

There _are_ a few things I remember though. The sweetness of a lullaby, though the words are long lost to me, and even the melody has become just a faint whisper. The little room I'd been raised in. There was a window with thick metal bars, but the golden light would filter through late in the afternoon, carrying in the warm sweetness of a summer breeze I'd never tasted out in the open.

I remember the creaky little bed... how one side had sunken in, but even still I liked to sleep in the nook that it left, snuggled up to her and Andy.

I remember the talk of genetic tests. The needles as they held me down to keep me from thrashing, the blood pulsing from my arm and into a tube... hot crimson jets of it spurting into the plastic vial with each beat of my heart. I remember the foxes taking her away, locking the door and leaving me pounding at the wooden surface. I'd always cried, but each time she would tell me to hush, that it would be okay.

No... no. Hold on to the happy memories. Focus!

I remember this.

She'd loved this song. We had the luxury of a cassette player... you remember those things, don't you? Magnetic tape, each could only hold ten or twelve songs total. But lucky us, this was the first song on one side, and mom could just press rewind until the cassette clicked, and we could play it all over again.

I lean back, my tongue and nose bathed in oak and jasmine and the smoky scent of a cigar box. How many have I had by now? I don't remember. A thin layer of cognac clings to the inside of the glass, crawling down in trailing streaks. A warm buzz floods through me, and with that buoying my mood, I take out my keys and unlock the top drawer of my desk.

I take out an old RGS-14. The first off the line. The first I ever owned. A memento from another failed mission, one where two Agents had died. It'd been too painful to bring this one out in service again, but for the sake of the dead I'd kept it as a memento, with one bullet in the chamber.

One is all I need.

I toss back the rest of the cognac, staring out the window and into the night. You can't see the all stars against the glow of the City, but the night sky has its own alien beauty nonetheless. That indigo canvas is painted with a blush of rose and green and gold from the shining districts below. It's enchanting, but as much as I love Zootopia, I'd never truly considered it home.

Has anyone in the big city ever truly seen the stars? The Milky Way, a thick band of twinkling lights stretching from one horizon to the next, like a road paved with gems.

And I wonder... did mom ever get to see Zootopia? Not the Zootopia I'd come to know, certainly. But back then... did she ever get to see the City for what it was? A place where anyone can be anything. A place where a bunny can become a cop. A place where an orphan can become an Agent.

Where a slave can be free.

 

_Dream a little dream of me..._

 

Getting to my feet I set my glass on the table and close my eyes. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing as I raise the gun to my head. All I can think of now is the melody. The view of the Milky Way, spread out across the sky like a diamond-studded path. It's beautiful, even through the bars of that little window. Even as I look up, curled in that sunken nook in the bed I dream of walking that road someday. With my brother Andy's arms around me, and my mother's paw on my shoulder.

I dream of walking among the stars.

 

_Dream a little dream... of me..._

 

There's a quiet knock at my door.

“Jack? Jack are you all right?”

Judy Hopps' voice cuts through the moment, and I open my eyes again to the glow of the city, the hum of rose and green and gold. The stars are gone.

“Please leave,” I say in a low whisper.

“Jack? Is that you?” she knocks again.

“Please leave,” I say again, more firmly this time, but my voice starts to crack.

“Dr. Therona texted me. She said you were acting really strangely. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine!” The muzzle is pressed firmly against my temple, and my finger is on the trigger, but my paw begins to shake. In the glass I can see my reflection. The tears are welling up in my eyes.

“Well... I'm not, Jack. I'm not fine...” Judy murmurs. Her voice is soft and broken, and when she speaks she lets out a small hiccup. She's been crying. “Look, I know you're tough, and disciplined... but... I'm worried. We're _all_ worried about you.”

“ _I TOLD YOU I'M FINE!_ ”

She pauses, and for a moment I almost believe she's about to go away, when she speaks up again.

“I'm coming in, okay?”

“NO!” I snap, beginning to choke up, but the doorknob turns with a click as she enters. Even though I'd been running on autopilot ever since I left the morgue, had I not locked it? Had I _seriously_ neglected to ensure my own privacy for this?!

No, don't you dare think this is just a cry for attention. Don't you _DARE_ suggest that this is a subconscious plea for help.

“Jack!” Judy gasps, and when I turn around her eyes, though pink and still faintly puffy, are now wide open. Her pupils have shrunken back into small beads. Putting both paws to her mouth she stands there, trembling in horror, as I remain behind the desk holding the gun to my head.

“Jack... wh- what are you _doing_?!”

“STAY BACK!” I shout at her, but my own legs are shaking. My liquid courage begins to give way, and I crumple forward. Planting one paw on the desk to steady myself though I keep the gun up. The tears are spilling down my cheeks... I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to cry, but now my vision's blurry, and I just want to turn away from her, to curl up into a little ball. But if I did she'd probably lunge at me and try to snatch the gun. Us bunnies are fast, and my senses have been dulled by the booze and the exhaustion and the string of sleepless nights that'd ended in this one.

“Jack... Jack, please don't do this!” Judy says. Though her eyes are wide and frightened, she keeps a tight leash on her tone. She takes a step forward.

“Don't you _DARE!_ ” I belt it out in a roar, more ferocious than you'd ever expect from a bunny. But though she pauses mid-step, she doesn't back down.

“Please, Jack. Just... just put it down. Let's talk about this, okay?” She really is a great officer, isn't she? The way she's trying so hard to stay calm, trying to talk me down like I'm some crazy standing on the ledge.

I laugh bitterly. “Talk about what? About the incident reports? About the _names_? About Loupin, or Ramure, or Fangmeyer, or all the rest?!”

I could say that my mind is starting to crack, but I'm beginning to think I'd broken long ago. No sane rabbit would've survived this job. Not in the undersea lab. Or the Cairo incident. Maybe I should've been locked up the first time a mission took a direct line to Fuckshow City, bound up in a long-sleeved canvas coat and tossed in a padded cell.

Maybe if that'd happened, nineteen-plusmammals would still be alive.

“Jack... you're stronger than this, okay? I know it. Please... think of what Agent Elkredge would say. Or Skye! She's still in the hospital! She needs you!”

My chest is rising and falling with heavy breaths, and I stare past her through the haze of tears. It's so cheap the way she's trying to talk me down, bringing up the two friends I have left. Elkredge. Skye. The names of the living. Their faces drift through my mind, still crisp and vibrant, nudging aside the broken old memories of my childhood.

“I'm sorry, Judy... I never should've brought you into this...” I whimper, trembling as I slide down to rest my weight on my elbow.

“I signed up for this, Jack...” Judy says, trying to sound warm and sympathetic. She takes one slow, careful step towards me, but she doesn't raise her paws like she's about to snatch my gun. “You're not the only one who puts his life on the line. Risking ourselves to protect others... that's what we do at the ZPD.”

“That's not what I meant...” I lift my head up. She's only a few steps away from me now. My paw tightens on the handle, my finger pulls ever so gently at the trigger. I feel the faint pressure of the first stop. Just a hair more and there'd be the click, the harsh crack, and then the silence.

“This line of work... it has a way of robbing you of your innocence, Judy,” I say, and my voice is beginning to break. “All the things I've seen, all the things I've done... it kills you inside. It crushes your dreams. Not all at once, but little by little.”

I sniff, and I can taste the salt of my tears in the back of my throat. “But the truth is, I never knew innocence. Ever since the day I was born... from the moment I was _conceived_ I was an abomination. I never knew what it meant, or how precious it was, to be innocent...”

My words come out in a broken whimper.

“Until... until I met you.”

“Jack...” Judy's reaching out now, her violet eyes wide and hopeful. “If I had to do it all over again, knowing what I know now, I'd still do it. I _have_ to do what's right, even if it means seeing violence, or cruelty, or outright evil. I'm not gonna close my eyes to all of that just because the world thinks I'm some cute little bunny who needs protecting. _That's_ who I am, Jack.”

My sleeve is getting damp with my tears, and I scrub one eye with my wrist as a fresh, new understanding hits me.

I sniffle. “Judy... can... can I ask you one question?”

“Of course.”

I sit up then, leveling a long, considering gaze on her.

“Did you fuck him?”

For a moment the question hangs in the air. The gentleness in her eyes is gone, replaced by stark, horrified shock. She wasn't innocent after all, was she? There _has_ to be someone on the inside, there _has_ to be a mole passing all my secrets to Rufinius. No fox could be that clever. No fox could think that far ahead to destroy me and everything I've fought for. Not unless they had inside help.

“Wh-what?”

And all of a sudden Judy sounds so small and frightened, like a kit caught in the middle of breaking the rules. I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it! The foxes had always known how to infiltrate anything, and with so many pet bunnies in their service one was bound to join the ZPD.

“His red rocket,” I hiss, “His knotted blood balloon. Did he slide his _FILTHY FUCKING FRISK COCK_ inside you _?!_ ”

“J-Jack! I... I don't...”

It's all so clear now. Why hadn't I pinned this to her earlier? She'd pressed me to go on this disastrous venture... batted her pretty little eyes and told me that Wilde could be trusted. It couldn't just be the blind love of a smitten bunny rabbit that led her to do that. They'd gotten to me through her, had her whisper lies in my ear.

I'd finally figured it all out.

I laugh, and it's a happy, wild giggle that shakes me down to my heels. Swinging the gun I point it at the traitorous little whore. I step around the desk, storming straight at Judy as she backs away in terror. When she stumbles and falls to her tail with a light thump I press the muzzle right between her lovely eyes. She's done me quite the favor getting so close to me.

For a moment Judy glances around the room, looking for a way to defend herself. I can almost hear the thoughts running through her head. Can she fight back? Can she try to make the first move? She's Judy Hopps after all. The star officer, the never-give-up Pollyannna. She could at least _try_...

But no. She's facing Jack Savage isn't she? Secret Agent bunny, with years more lethal combat experience and the willingness to use it. And he sure looks like he's gone craaaaazy. She couldn't even twitch before I pulled the trigger.

No. Brave as she is, courage isn't gonna save her this time. She chooses to be _smart_.

“Jack... Jack, _don't_...” she swallows, and fresh tears well up in her eyes. It's almost funny, the way she goes cross-eyed staring down the barrel of the gun. The fox's cockwarmer can only sit there, paws held out. “P-P-Please stop!”

“Your boyfriend is a rapist, a slaver, and a mass murderer. _That's_ the mammal you chose to take to bed. _That's_ who you've sided with. You don't get to tell me what to do, _FRISK-FUCKER!_ "

Everything falls away now: the pain, the fear, the sorrow, the nostalgia. There is only clarity and purpose, straight as an arrow, strong as steel.

"Jack... Jack, no...” the little bitch's ears hang limp behind her head, and her voice breaks. “This isn't like you. You're... you're having a breakdown. Please don't do this!"

“This ends now,” I intone, in a voice cold enough to freeze the sun.

“Jack... it's me, Judy! I'm Judy Hopps! I'm... I'm from Bunnyburrow! I've got almost three hundred brothers and sisters! Parents! And... and I'm your _friend_!”

“Shut up,” I growl. “Don't you _dare_ give me this clumsy attempt to personalize yourself. You're his _creature_. His _thing_. But Rufinius should've trained you better.”

“J-Jack... Jack, please...”

Those soft violet eyes have turned into glossy pools, and long wet trails pour down her gray cheeks. Had she really been crying for her dead comrades earlier, if she still has so many tears to shed for herself?

Those eyes... Andy had violet eyes, once.

I shake my head as I chuckle, and sway back and forth slightly, though it isn't the alcohol this time. It's a _danse macabre_ , a waltz to a tuneless song that only I can hear. I feel like I'm walking on air. “No... no you're not gonna trick me. You and your vulpine sugar daddies have taken everything else. There's only one bullet in this gun, and you don't get to have it.”

Eyes open, my mouth peeled back into a wild grin, I swivel the pistol back towards my temple and pull the trigger.

There is the click of the hammer, the harsh crack of gunfire...

And then the silence.

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA FILE CIR-330.14** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 3 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-3 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **NAME:** Rufinius Varius Frisk (Codename: “The Prince”)

 

 **SPECIES:** Fox (Red)

 

 **BIRTH DATE:** Sometime in 1936, age 80-81

 

 **HEIGHT:** 4'0”-4'2” (approx)

 

 **WEIGHT:** 70-75 lbs (approx)

 

 **NOTABLE FEATURES:** Tendency towards custom haute couture, paisley patterns. Fondness for expensive food and drink, often found with accompanying prostitutes. Inclination towards classical French cuisine. A crisp accent, somewhat blunted with age, that “sounds like a razor being sharpened.”

 

 **HISTORY:** Though most members of the Vulpes Sanguinis have clandestine histories shrouded in half-truths, a good deal can be gleaned from Rufinius Varius Frisk's (hereafter referred to as “Rufinius,” it's best to avoid referring to the fucker by his self-styled title whenever possible) background, given his semi-public life in his early years.

Born abroad in 1936, Rufinius' formative years coincided with the entirety of the Second World War. Though he was born to wealth and privilege, the economic impact and rationing of many post-war economies nonetheless led to certain deprivations in this phase of his life despite his status as a son of one of the First Families (see the Psychological Profile analysis below for more details).

Due to his remarkable intelligence, Rufinius was enrolled in Oxford University at age 15. At this time he began breeding roses as a hobby. Former classmates from 1949 and on recall him being the youngest of his siblings and the most subdued. Unlike the more extroverted Frisk children, Rufinius was more secluded and spent much of his time in the botanical gardens.

His homosexual tendencies were an open secret among his classmates, though he reportedly saw little bullying despite contemporary attitudes regarding his sexuality. At least two notable “accidents” occurred among the more aggressive students, after which no recorded incidents of bullying were to be reported.

In 1953, the discovery of the DNA double-helix by Rosalind Furanklin appears to have catalyzed Rufinius' interest in molecular genetics. By 1954, Rufinius graduated with degrees in Botany and European History upon which he immediately continued his education towards a PhD in biochemistry.

While working on his graduate thesis in 1956, multiple disappearances and kidnappings of bunnies were reported in the Tri-Burrows. It is believed that in this time, at the age of 20, Rufinius had begun breeding bunny slaves for sale on the international black market as well as for his own personal use. Rufinius graduated in 1958 _magna cum laude_.

Some time in the 1960s Rufinius moved to Zootopia. In this time he also married and fathered a son, Jacob Cornelius Frisk. Having done so in his late-20s to early-30s, this was considered a late stage for Rufinius to have started a family. No doubt this was due in large part to his homosexuality, though you gotta factor in his dick being too busy with his sick perversions as well.

The next decade saw Rufinius tentatively engaged with high society in Zootopia under the guise of being a courtly vulpine socialite born to old money. His quiet charisma and brilliance gave him a magnetic presence in his circles, and his dinner parties were known for being indulgent and high-class affairs while refraining from being too gaudy. Despite this however, Rufinius was outshone by his much more outgoing siblings in social events (see ZIA file CIR-330.10 to CIR-330.13 for more details).

With the opening of the cold era of the Blood Wars in the late 1970s however, escalating tensions led to Rufinius' siblings dying off one by one. Whether they were murdered in gang disputes or on Rufinius' orders is unknown.

By 1986, four bunny breeds were revealed to be on international black markets which can be traced back to Rufinius' work.

In 1995, the Blood Wars heated into multiple deadly confrontations between the First Families, at which point it was believed that the Vulpes Sanguinis was forced to flee Zootopia due to police pursuit, despite their extraordinary success in apparently eliminating the remaining First Families and their bloodlines.

In 1996 intel on Rufinius' location and movements was discovered in Operation Oranos, along with the newly discovered Sanguinis breeding facility known as “The Farm.” A team of ZIA investigators and Razorbacks was immediately dispatched, but the Sanguinis had only recently abandoned the site along with [REDACTED]. However, the asset known as [REDACTED] survived the purge, and was henceforth recovered. The area is now under ZIA control.

 

 **TALENTS:** Rufinius had a broad network of acquaintances throughout the upper echelons of Zootopian society. Interview efforts have been largely unsuccessful, due most likely to fear of Sanguinis retaliation. However, what little information can be gleaned indicates that until the Sanguinis' exodus in 1995 Rufinius had kept up-to-date on modern advances in genetics and appeared to be the equal of a contemporary researcher on the subject. No doubt this knowledge was put to use in his breeding experiments.

Rufinius' exceptional intelligence is by far his most dangerous asset. Analysis of Sanguinis operations under his management indicates that he generally has multiple plots operating in parallel, serving to confuse investigators. He seems to be both exceptionally well-prepared in laying out far-flung stratagems (he is noted as once having said “plan two steps ahead, then take a third,” though it's not as clever as people seem to think), as well as improvising sudden and unexpected action. Rufinius often engineers carefully planned chaos in order to sow discord and confusion among his enemies in order to gain an advantage.

Rufinius appears to also possess a high degree of talent in psychological manipulation. His followers seem to have a cultish devotion to the Frisk family, and reports of him taking pleasure (literally... gross) in mentally breaking his enemies abound. Frisk is also known to be capable of seducing new allies to his cause by appealing to their psychological weaknesses. One prime example would be the recruitment of Sebastian Dusk (AKA The Smiler, see ZIA file CIR-332.53 for more details).

Under his tenure as their leader, the Vulpes Sanguinis has become an exceptionally dangerous and adaptable force. They're like fucking cancer.

 

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:** Rufinius' childhood experiences during World War 2 and the impoverished post-war recovery appear to have led to him developing three notable behavioral traits: Rufinius' belief in ruthless conquest primarily through coercion and subversion (though instances of open force have been noted), his tendency towards perverse hedonistic excess, and his contempt for anything that reminds him of the leaner aspects of his childhood.

This last trait is particularly interesting, as it manifests as a particular hatred of cheap root vegetables, carrots in particular. Rufinius' hatred of carrots is quite infamous among his inner circle, and it's believed that it may be a contributing factor for bunnies being his choice of species for enslavement.

Regarding Rufinius' late engagement in fatherhood, another possibility arises. Given the decrepit old asshole's god complex it's clear that he despises the idea of his own mortality. Having been forced to pump out a kid is equivalent to him giving life to a walking, talking reminder that'll one day be doing a waltz six feet above his rotting, semen-crusted corpse. It is believed that Rufinius' relationship with his son Jacob is poor.

Rufinius appears to exhibit high ratings in all three qualities of the Dark Triad: psychopathy, Machiavellianism, and narcissism.

He is callous, utterly unburdened by empathy or emotion, and though he may convince his followers that he cares (due to his intimidating and even gentle charm), he considers those who serve him as objects towards a greater end goal.

Rufinius also exhibits a profound willingness to manipulate and exploit his allies for personal gain, often through complex and convoluted means. Notable is his utter disdain for lying when doing so. For Rufinius, the mark of a truly brilliant gentletod is the ability to deceive without saying an untrue word. It is crucial to read between the lines when speaking with Rufinius (if it ever gets to this point) and to measure his words carefully.

As for narcissism, you need an abacus to count the times Rufinius has spoken to guests in his home while getting his cock licked by one or more of his pets. He'll dress in tailored silk suits and talk about Baroque art while he's spilling his load just because he thinks he's so fucking above everyone else that basic social mores like “it's not polite to get you dick sucked when you have company” are beneath him. No, his version of etiquette is offering his guests a bunny slave so they can also get their own poles polished while they chat or dine or get their throat slit or whatever. Even if they refuse it's just him _literally_ swinging his dick around, showing that he has so much fucking power over others that he can get away with it and you better fucking smile and eat shit and treat it as perfectly normal.

 

 _Addendum 1 (May 3, 20XX):_ Agent Savage, when I asked you to update this file I expected you to take this seriously. Keep your jaundiced and crass opinions to yourself. I want this fixed by the end of the week. ~The Director.

 

 _Addendum 2 (May 3, 20XX):_ I'm sorry, Director. I'm not sure how else to describe the cousin-fucker getting his knob gobbled. If you think that last paragraph was crass you don't want to know about his other personal activities. I haven't even begun to list his parade of depravities I learned of while growing up. ~Agent Savage (ID# 057)

 

Addendum 3 (May 4, 20XX): Don't worry, Director. I'll make sure Jack gets it done. He just needs to unwind. You know how touchy the subject is for him. ~Agent Skye (ID# 098)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Hoo boy. This was again one of the first chapters I wrote BEFORE I penned chapter 1. The other two were Chapters 5, "Tiger Lily," and Chapter 14, "Nick's Vegetarian Diet."
> 
> I just really really have a penchant for taking things to extremes, particularly dark and crazy extremes.
> 
> And my gosh another big reveal! Poor Pearl has been Jack Savage's brother Andy all along! But whyyyy? D:
> 
> I know I'm going to get a lot of crap for this chapter. Believe it or not, I actually had to tone DOWN some of the language used here, largely because in the original script Jack's complete breakdown also ends up with him trashing Judy in words that were much more spiteful, belittling, and misogynistic. It was meant to portray his extreme psychotic break and how he was becoming so dissociated from reality that he could no longer function in a healthy manner anymore, but looking back it was just unnecessary.
> 
> One of my beta readers felt that Judy should've fought back, but as much as I adore her as a strong female character I don't think that this is very realistic given the extreme stress and tension all the characters have been under (including Judy). Poor Officer Hopps had, after all, just crawled out of the ruins of the Twilight Cathedral, headed a rescue operation bringing small mammal medics to help the trapped officers, and all the while had to deal with the emotional fallout of learning about Nick's allegiances. So instead I made sure to give her some moments to shine elsewhere and lampshaded this a bit by having Jack muse that Judy was clearly thinking about trying to attack him preemptively, but at this point she was just in no condition to fight. Especially since Jack's the one with the gun and is incredibly unstable right now.
> 
> As dark as it seems though, this is merely the "all is lost" moment before things recover, so don't lose hope! I'm sorry I delayed this chapter update for a week longer than I had originally planned, but real life had gotten in the way and I also wanted to build up more of a stockpile of completed chapters. Please expect that in the next week or two I'll be doing a string of updates in sequence (one each night, much like how I'd made this push towards the end in the prequel).
> 
> Also, yay! Another ZIA secret file. I really do enjoy writing these. It's a fun framing device for laying out background details that would be unnatural to reveal in narrative. I'm gonna definitely keep things like this in my back pocket. It's also meant to bring some darkly crass humor to what's otherwise a very bleak chapter. Hope it helps take the edge off.
> 
> Finally, please do give the Doris Day song a listen ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7j8wa9sWOE ). I had it playing on loop while I wrote the bulk of this to really help me get in the mood. Please don't call this a songfic though, that'll make me feel icky.
> 
> I'm gonna go have some tea and hug a puppy now. Editing this chapter has been emotionally draining.


	37. It's Not the Ears, It's the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has a drink at the bar, Judy helps manage the aftermath.

_**Danny Kaplan** _

 

“Jeez, Kaplan. You've been nursin' that thing for ages now. Not to your taste?”

Donna Weaselton looks up at me as she leans over the counter. I've barely touched my passionfruit margarita... the piled orange-yellow slush has melted a good bit, and it's threatening to spill over the rim of the glass. Lowering my head I press my mouth to the edge and slurp just to keep from making a mess.

“Which one are ya, anyways? The cop or the porn star? Unless the cop does porn too... wouldn't surprise me.”

“Uh... I'm Danny. You do know that Benjy is the huge one right? The big gym cat, basically lives off of curry and soy protein?”

“All you tigers look huge to me. How you expect a gal like me to tell the diff?” she says through her snaggletoothed grin.

I look at her suspiciously. “Whaddya mean porn star anyways?”

There's Donna for you. The down-to-earth, even brash way of ribbing her customers is just her way of getting mammals to forget about their troubles, if only for a little bit. She couldn't possibly-

“Aw don't play coy, Kaplan. I've seen your FappingFelines account. What, you think the domino mask does it to keep you nice and anonymous?”

A cold chill runs down my spine and I can only stare at Donna with that deer-in-the-headlights look. My mouth's pressed into a thin line, and I don't even know what to say to get outta this one. All of a sudden her eyes widen.

“Hooo-leeeee shiiiiit...” she breathes. “You- you _really_? Hold on a second-”

Donna pulls out her phone then and opens her browser.

“Wh- what are you doing?!” I hiss. “Donna! Donna, stop that!”

“Ohmigod it _is_ you! Well, my mistake. The domino mask _does_ help. I've seen your scantily-clad ass shaking around onstage for years and I still wouldn't have been able to tell.”

“You can't tell anyone!”

“Pfft who am I gonna tell? I'm savin' this one for myself.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah well whaddya expect? Unless you know someone who'll throw a pity-fuck at this ugly mug,” she gestures to indicate her face, “I'm gonna need somethin' to help me paddle the pink canoe when I'm all by my lonesome. Besides, it's obvious you aren't the shy type. You get off on the idea of others watching, doncha?”

“Well... usually if it's guys who are...”

“Hotter.”

“I was gonna say 'gay.'”

“Given your day job you're pretty shit at dancing around the subject, you know that?” Donna chuckles. She glances at the tablet behind the bar. Someone must've placed an order, because she takes out several glasses and begins making drinks as she continues.

“I'm sure there's a mammal for you out there, Donna,” I say, giving her a forced smile. Despite it all everyone really does like her.

“Pffft. You kiddin'? The only reason I lost my big V at all is 'cuz I tripped and fell into a pile of cocks,” she laughs as she shakes up some rum, curacao, and lime juice together with ice. “But no one comes to the bar to talk about ol' Donna here. Whats going on with you? Usually you're here with that boyfriend of yours.”

“I just needed to get out of the apartment for a bit,” I sigh. My eyes wander to the TV. Some football game or another. I never followed sports much.

“Wait...” the grin melts from her face, which is really unfortunate. That was probably the only thing redeeming her crooked features. “Aw, Kaplan I'm sorry. Benjy... he's the cop who got shot, wasn't he?”

“He's... fine, more or less. Recovering. Low-caliber bullet plus a thick tiger skull and a shitton of luck... got away with a concussion.”

It's only been a couple days since Benjy got back from the hospital. We've done as much as we could to make him comfortable. There's a whole constellation of symptoms we were supposed to look out for, but the one that he's been suffering from the most is light sensitivity, and that meant switching out to a bunch of low-wattage bulbs. It's dark enough now that if we put up some neon accents the apartment would look like a proper nightclub.

I almost laughed at another symptom. “Irritability.” Gee, might as well check Benjy into the hospital again if _that's_ supposed to be a warning sign to look out for.

The wall of ice that'd grown between us had finally started to thaw, just a little. Between me nearly getting killed and Benjy's own close brush with death all the drama between us seemed so meaningless now. But we really are alike in all the wrong ways, with that same stubborn inability to make the first move. Luke's been a sweetheart in his attempts to help bridge the gap, but after all the harsh words me and Benjy had shared, all the anger and frustration and pining...

It's hard to let it all go.

“So how long before he's up and about again?” Donna asks, with none of her snark this time. She puts the finishing touches on the mai-tais: pineapple wedges and maraschino cherries skewered with toothpick umrellas.

“A couple weeks at least. The guy needs to get cleared by a doctor. Until then...”

“Rough at home, eh?”

“Not as bad as you might think,” I shrug. “Benjy mostly keeps to himself, he's been sleeping a lot. Big problem is we've had to get rid of all the alcohol in the house. Not a good idea to mix booze with his meds. Plus, you know.” I make a finger-gun pointy gesture at my head.

Making sure we had a dry apartment was awkward. Bad enough me and Luke can't do our Friday Night cocktails anymore, but now we had to worry about Benjy taking it the wrong way, treating him like an alcoholic who needed to be controlled.

“So that's why you're gettin' your drink on here, eh?”

I nod.

“Well somethin's eatin' your ass, 'cuz you don't seem quite so relieved that your big brother's alive,” Donna says, leaning in on her elbows.

“It's... complicated...” I mutter.

“Yeah, I get it...” she sighs. “You know, the Germans have got this word... ' _weltschmerz.'”_

Something about that tickles me at the back of my mind.

“It's weird how well-read you are, Donna.”

“Yeah well when you tend bar it helps. People come in shit-faced, they wanna know the best way to describe how fucked up they're feeling. And no one has the best words to describe fucked-uppitude like the Deutschlanders.”

“Okay, go on...” I sigh.

“Right. _Weltschmerz_. It's basically that shitty feeling you get when you compare the world as _it is_ and how you think the world _should be_. When you realize how reality can never give you what you really want in life.”

I look at her suspiciously as I give my drink another sip. “What're you getting at?”

She leans in close, and her features soften. It's strange to see her with such a gentle expression, with sympathy bright in those weasel eyes of hers.

“What I'm sayin' Kaplan... is that love is a messed up thing sometimes.”

For the second time tonight Donna's knocked me for a loop. I can only stare at her, mind racing for how she might've figured it out. Did Nick or Judy...? No, they wouldn't gossip. I mean sure Judy's a total chatterbox when she needs to be, but she'd never betray a friend's trust. And Nick... he knows better than to blab. Luke would never- he just wouldn't! As for Benjy himself... He _certainly_ wouldn't be talking. If anything he just wants to pretend this _thing_ between us just doesn't exist.

Donna raises her paws in an innocent pose and leans back. “Now I ain't gonna say you'll never make it work. Maybe you can, maybe you can't. But at least if you and Benjy... if it doesn't happen, well... at least now you have a word for it. And _that_ always helps.”

And weirdly enough, it does. I mean, if there's a term to describe what I'm feeling, that kinda means loads of other people have been in the same boat as me too.

“Thanks, Donna...” I manage a little half-smile. “That actually does make me feel a bit better.”

“Attaboy!” she grins toward my drink. “Now, better finish that while it's still nice and slushy.”

All of a sudden, the TV screen catches my eye. The green football field's vanished, replaced by a pair of reporters on ZNN. Though they have that slick journalistic composure, the worried expressions on their faces say they're feeling anything but composed. The sound's been muted, but my eyes bulge as I read the captions.

_This is a ZNN special report. What looks to be a terrorist attack is currently taking place in Catsro Square in the Downtown District. Reports of multiple explosions have been confirmed. We repeat: recent tremors in the area were not earthquakes. What is believed to have been a bombing has just taken pla-_

_I'm sorry, we've just received an update on the situation. There are now reports of heavy gunfire and severe casualties among law enforcement officers. The ZPD is urging all mammals in the area to vacate immediately. Aiden, can we get a view of- snipers?! I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but..._

_Please remain calm and vacate the area. The ZPD will be updating us on the situation when they can._

My eyes flit back and forth across the restaurant. This can't be happening. I must've lost it, I must be seeing something that isn't actually there. But sure enough half of the patrons in the restaurant have stopped talking and are either staring at the nearest flatscreen or they're typing furiously on their phones searching for trending updates.

I barely hear the sound of my glass shattering on the floor.

“Whoa, watch your paws, Kaplan! Wh-” Donna must've followed my gaze to the monitor, because she makes a choked sound and stops speaking entirely.

I race out of the restaurant, scrambling to the car. It's a five-minute drive back to the apartment, but every second feels like it's counting down to something disastrous. In my mind the words keep repeating themselves until they burn: _severe casualties among law enforcement officers_.

When I throw open the door to our apartment Luke and Benjy are arguing over the kitchen counter. Or more accurately, Benjy is arguing, and Luke is just leveling a flat-eyed stare at my brother. You can never win an argument against Luke when he's like this. It's not that he fights back: it's just that he doesn't engage in the fight at all. About as useful as trying to punch a pillow out of shape.

Behind them on the TV the emergency report is continuing.

Benjy turns to face me when I enter. “Danny!” he growls. “Gimme the car keys! Now! Your boyfriend here stole my phone so I couldn't call a Zuber!”

“You just got home from the hospital, Benjy,” Luke says in a calm but firm voice. “The wiring in your brain's all stirred up, so you're not thinking straight. Trust me: I know what that's like.”

“Benjy...” I take a deep swallow. “Benjy, you just got shot in the head. You're supposed to be on medical leave.”

“My friends are being fucking murdered right now! They've got bombs! _Snipers_!”

For a moment I stare at him, the keys in my paw. Benjy wouldn't lunge at me for them, I know him well enough to be sure that he wouldn't use force on me like that. But the memory of him slamming me into the tiles that one time gives me pause.

“Fine... I can't stop you, bro. So I promise I'll take you to the precinct, but I won't do it right now.”

His muzzle peels back into a snarl, and his ears perk up towards me. I break in just as he's about to open his muzzle.

“Three reasons, Benjy. Three! First,” I raise one finger, “You can't do shit right now and you know it. With the state you're in, you'll just get in everyone's way.”

“Second,” I raise another finger, “Luke's right. You're panicking, you're still recovering from the concussion, so you won't be able to think straight even if they _do_ let you onto the streets.”

“And third...” I lower my paw, and my voice cracks. “I'm also really fucking scared, and I need my big bro.”

For a good long while Benjy stares at me, but gradually the rage melts from his face. He places a paw on the back of a chair, and for a split second I brace myself for the moment when he's gonna throw it across the floor in a fit of rage. Yet I sigh in relief when his shoulders slump and he turns away from me.

“That's cheap, Danny. That's real fucking cheap.”

He plods over to the couch and plops himself down on it, rubbing the side of his head.

“You okay, bro?” I sit down next to him. “Any headaches? Vertigo?”

“I'm fine,” he grumbles.

Slowly I reach out to touch his paw. He doesn't respond, even when my fingers close around his. Benjy just begrudgingly accepts the gesture like he's too tired of fighting to pull away.

“So...” My pulse is a rapid flutter in my chest. It feels like pulling off a scab, broaching this topic, because once you start there's no covering it back up again. “You've never thought about me... the same way I did about you?”

He looks so tired all of a sudden when his eyes meet mine. “You mean what, this soulmate stuff? Reincarnation? When the hell did you get religious, Danny?”

I mean, it's true that I haven't really been to Temple ever since we were kids, but I'd been having the recurring dream for years before then. I can still see the sunlight dancing off of the Baagh river in golden ripples. Smell the musky, almost pungent aroma of the mango blossoms from the nearby groves. It's hardly pleasant, but it's still a scent that reminds you of the sweetness that's just waiting to come.

And there he is on the river, in a broad straw hat and balancing himself on a fishing boat. He smiles up at me in my silks.

Mammals here would laugh at the thought, but no one in Tigria thinks there's anything shameful about having been a female in a previous life. It's just the natural order of things. I remember the softness on the inside, the scent of jasmine perfumes and myrrh. I remember him gazing at me in adoration, never thinking that I might gaze back.

“You really don't remember?” I murmur. When that fortuneteller told our Gramma that the two of us had been lovers in a previous life, it'd all clicked. Everything I'd done since then was just to get me and Benjy back on the same wavelength.

“Bro, I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but this stuff is kinda creepy. Not just the fact that you're trying to ride my nuts all the time. You're talking about some spooky shit I never realized you ever believed. It's like you're some born-again or something.”

Creepy. Fuck that's the most hurtful word he could've used. Like all these warm, affectionate feelings I've got for him are twisted up into something dark.

Is he just _trying_ to hurt me now? Is there some tigress he likes? Benjy's always been a little more towards the middle of the Kinsey scale, but does he think I wouldn't understand? I'd put on earrings, wear some perfume, and he could pretend I'm her when I go down on him if he likes.

“But I love you...”

“No, you don't. You're just obsessed. You're fixated on this stupid superstitious idea you got when you were a kid. And okay, I'll admit I haven't been as sympathetic as I should've. I should've been way nicer about getting your head straight. But you gotta grow up, Danny,” Benjy sighs. “I've been telling you for _years_ that you just need to grow up.”

Benjy takes his mug from the coffee table and takes a nice, long sip. I hadn't even noticed Luke had made us some chai.

“Now... if you really do care about me I need you to help me put this whole thing behind us. I've got way too much shit to worry about now without my personal life being all tangled up like a ball of yarn. So are we cool?”

“Yeah... yeah, we're cool,” I murmur, lowering my head.

Benjy takes me in for a good long while before he stands, wobbling slightly.

“Whoa...” I stand up to help catch him, “You need to lie down.”

“I'm fine, I just stood up too quickly...” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Fuckin' terrorist attack... Officers down... did you two seriously have to toss all the booze?”

“You're the one who started it.” Neither of us is gonna forget the night he snapped and started pouring our alcohol down the sink.

“Well you're taking me to the precinct tomorrow,” he grumbles. “I need to hear it straight from the guys what's happening. Yeah, yeah don't worry. I won't cause any trouble, just have Luke give me my phone back so I can keep up with the news, all right? Fuck, man... _fuck_.”

He makes a soft, choking sound as he sets his mug on the table and heads to his room.

Luke had made a tastefully quiet exit once me and Benjy sat down to talk, and I find him on our bed. He's naked, tail flicking in the air as he reads through some article on his tablet.

“Benjy wants his phone back.”

Luke looks over his shoulder at me. “Might wanna put that off for a bit. The news coming out... it's not good.”

I pull my shirt off and toss it in the hamper, then kick off my shorts. Plopping down next to Luke I wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“I don't tell you enough how much I love you,” I say, kissing the side of his face.

“You don't have to,” he smiles, turning off his tablet and setting it on the nightstand. “I already know.”

He turns toward me then, and I lose myself in the familiar warmth of his body, the press of his bare fur. Our muzzles lock in a deep kiss, and even though I'm hungry for something Luke can't give me, I satisfy myself in the taste of him all the same.

 

~~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Jack Savage is dead.

The words are tumbling through my brain over and over. I'd led a team of otters and bunnies and stoats and moles down to the Twilight Cathedral... all of them civilians. Doctors and nurses, civil engineers. Agent Wallaby had been right: they _did_ find bombs that hadn't gone off and, with help from the moles who knew underground architecture best, placed them in a far-off corridor that wouldn't cause any more collapses if they did go off.

But that didn't make the reality any less grim. So many mammals had died in the last twenty-four hours. So many innocent lives have been snuffed out. But even though I'd seen the bodies, none of it had happened in front of me. Not like this.

Jack Savage is dead.

So I'm just plopped down on the floor, paralyzed, both paws covering my mouth as a shrill and persistent _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ grows louder in the back of my mind and drowns out any other thoughts, when the door to the office is thrown open and Agent Elkredge pokes his head in.

“Aw, fuck.”

The weird thing though is the way he says it is so casual. Not “aw, fuck” like he's seeing another dead mammal in front of him. More like an “aw, fuck” from someone tired of seeing an old friend messing up his life.

Because that's when Jack twitches, and lets out a soft groan.

“Nnngh...”

“J-Jack?!” I squeak, looking up at Agent Elkredge. He looks weird with only one antler, and he's craning his neck a little... the other one had apparently been shot off by one of the Praetor snipers. He'll need to get the other one trimmed if he wants to balance it out. “What- how is this possible?”

ZIA armor implanted over his skull? Some sort of crazy martial arts training that toughened him up?

“I found his suicide-gun ages ago,” Elkredge snorts. “I've been making sure it's only held a blank ever since.”

“You... asshole...” Jack groans, picking himself up. He wobbles, stumbles backward, and slams into his desk before he slumps to the floor. “Does anyone else hear a ringing sound?”

“You probably blew out your earbuds,” Miles says in an almost casual tone. “What did you think, Jack? We're in an intelligence agency. Did you really think I wouldn't know what it meant when you kept a gun with one bullet in the chamber?”

“You had no _right_.” Jack yanks the little plugs out of his ears and tosses them onto the floor. I could hear it now too, a faint shrill whine coming from them. Gingerly he touches the side of his head with a paw, and winces when his fingers meet a patch of burned fur and skin.

“You're not the only boss I answer to,” says Elkredge. “With all the stupid shit you get yourself into, my job's always been to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

“Seraphine... that _bitch_.”

“Don't let her hear you say that,” Elkredge snorts.

“You... you need a doctor...” I scoot over towards him. Despite everything he'd just tried to do, every horrible thing he'd said to me, I can't really blame Jack for snapping after everything that'd happened. Not completely.

“She's right,” Miles sighs. “Even a discharge from a blank can cause a lot of damage. Hopps, stay with him, won't you? And make sure he doesn't fall unconscious.”

Jack can't be too comfortable lying on the carpet like that, so I gently pull his head into my lap. It's funny... I'd looked up to him all this time, but now that he's so close to me I don't feel the faintest bit of giddiness at all. He just seems so _fragile_.

“Well... you seem a bit more clearheaded now...” I say, trying to fill in the awkward silence. Bunnies just aren't very used to silence.

“Yeah well, powder explosion to the side of the head will clear a lotta stuff out of the ol' noggin,” Jack says, blinking slowly. His eyes roll, and his head lolls to the side like he's dizzy.

For a long while he's silent. Elkredge did say to keep him awake, and I should be keeping him talking, but I'm just so stunned that I'm not sure what we should be talking about.

“I'm sorry I called you a whore.”

Without thinking I've found that my fingers have curled around one of his ears, and I gotta say it's reaaaally tempting to give it a good twist right now.

“You damn well better be,” I huff.

“So...” Jack murmurs. “Three hundred siblings, huh?”

“Yeah...” I sigh. “After everything that's happened... well, my parents must be running wild with panic. I did text them and tell them I was okay, but... well, I can't really bear to talk to them right now. Mom and Dad... they get worried, y'know? I'm surprised they haven't tried driving up here and to drag me back home by the ears.”

“What're your siblings like?” Jack's voice is so soft, but it doesn't seem like he's asleep. More like he's in a bit of a trance.

“Well, naturally I'm closest with my litter mates. There's six of us in total... just learned my oldest sister in the group is getting married, actually.”

“Litters...” Jack muses. “Huh. Makes sense.”

I tilt my head, confused. “Well, isn't that how they do things where you come from?”

I mean sure, there's this new trend of city bunnies raising smaller families, no more than a single litter, if that. And same-sex couples have always been encouraged so the population doesn't get _too_ out of control. But you'd think everyone knows about the basics of warren life.

“I didn't have a family like that, Judy...” Jack says, “I had a mom, and a brother. I had other siblings too, I think... but...”

He pauses then, and his eyes go misty, like he's reaching back through the years to a time he's nearly forgotten. “I wasn't born so much as I was _bred_ , Judy. The Vulpes Sanguinis... the Prince... he's built his livelihood around breeding new rabbits to use as slaves. New coat patterns, like a horticulturalist might breed roses.”

My paws freeze, and I realize that this whole time we've been talking I've been stroking his head. What he'd just said was so beyond what I'd consider normal that I can't quite accept it as fact, and it's like my mind's stuck processing his words to make sense of them.

“What... what do you mean?”

“The Floral Spot breed came first. Then the Silver Coal, followed by the Caramel Silk... bunnies of different fur patterns and body types, bred to be nice and docile little pets for superior mammals. The last breed he came out with was the Opal Oak, and apparently everyone said it was his masterpiece.”

Jack sneers, “But Rufinius Varius Frisk... that fucker is a hungry one. He had to came out with one more...”

Jack lifts his paw an strokes his striped cheek. “He wanted just one more breed... one that he could call the Tiger Lily.”

“So... so you're...?” My body stiffens. With the deep, violent tingle running down my spine it feels about as cold and fragile as a wedge of ice.

“Rufinius...” Jack murmurs, “He'd needed more genetic variation for his newest breeding program. So he kidnapped rabbits all over Bunnyburrow. There're so many, no one would've really noticed, right?”

Jack trails off then and he stares off into the distance.

He's lying so still. The way he's gotten so slack of a sudden sends a spike of panic through me, and I try to shake him awake.

“Jack...? Jack!”

He blinks, his eyes widen, and one paw shoots up to grip me by the arm. There's this wildness in his gaze, kinda dancing on the edge between clarity and sanity, when he looks me straight in the eye.

“Andy. My brother. He... had violet eyes too...”

Bunnies cuddle when they're stressed. It's just a fact. Foxes and wolves have such a different experience in life with their senses of smell... like this whole new dimension is open to 'em more than other mammals would experience. Lots of mammals have that one sense that really shapes how they experience things.

Rabbits... everyone assumes it's our hearing.

But no, it's our sense of touch that really makes a bunny a bunny. A big tight hug, a soft caress, a shared nose-rub, the feeling of your brothers' and sisters' breaths rising and falling around you while you sleep... each one of them has a totally different emotion tied to it.

And that's another thing mammals get wrong. It isn't that us bunnies are so emotional. It's that everything that tickles our fur stirs something in us. We aren't packed with feelings deep _inside_... we react to every sweet little thing around us. We're built to feel the _world_.

So when Jack stares at me with those baby blue eyes I see the glaciers in them. The Alps. The oceans saddled against the beaches in the Mediterranean. Every exotic place he's been to. His head is warm nestled in the crook of my thighs, and I feel kinda... motherly, almost. I'd known how it felt to take care of my younger brothers and sisters, but this is the first time I'd felt an actual _connection_ to the mammal I'm caring for. Like the bunny laying on me is my own.

My paw cups his cheek, and the fact that he's still holding my arm... it's like something's sparked between our touches, and this circuit's made a connection that's going both ways. But when I begin to lean in closer, just enough that I can feel his breaths stirring my whiskers and smell the woody scent of expensive liquor on his breath, his words from earlier ring in my head like a chime.

_I'm sorry I called you a whore._

The things he'd said. What he'd accused me of... I've never been spoken to like that _ever_. Every mammal deserves to live their life never having been on the receiving end of all the filth Jack had spat at me just then.

But I can't really blame him, can I? With all he'd been through, he'd been liable to snap like this ages ago and I'd just accidentally stumbled into it.

In the span of ten seconds a chill sense of shock had thawed into affection, which'd burned away in a hot flash of anger before wilting into what I'm feeling now. Just...

I'm so sad for him.

Fine. If it's easier for you non-bunnies to simplify it that way, go ahead. Us bunnies are “so emotional.”

I sigh, running my fingers through his headfur. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry all of that happened to you, Jack...”

My ears twitch as I hear soft, padding footsteps coming towards the door. I recognize that pace, and Jack must recognize it too, because he's tensed in my lap. In a split-second he's propped his weight on his elbows and lifted himself half-up to look at the dark silhouette framed in the hallway's light.

“Ah, Jack Savage...” that voice, like cool velvet, couldn't belong to anyone else but Dr. Conall. “I _did_ suspect you were close to having a psychotic break. I regret not coming to see you sooner, but then you've been trying to avoid me, haven't you?”

His nose twitches as he pads towards us. “Hmm. You haven't changed your clothes or washed in at least forty-eight hours. Didn't get much sleep last night either, did you? No more than a five minute nap here and there, and only then by accident. In fact, I do believe you've been sleep deprived for _weeks_.”

Jack's trembling. I can hear his heart begin to race, his breathing quicken. It's like he's having some sort of fit seeing Dr. Conall in here. No, that's it, isn't it? Conall probably looks like a very large fox in this lighting, and poor Jack's still in shock.

Just then I hear the clop of hooves in the hallway. Elkredge pokes his head into the door.

“Conall. What are you doing here?”

“Like many nocturnal mammals I work late into the night, Agent Elkredge. I was just tabulating my notes for the day- a busy task I assure you- when I heard a single, lone gunshot. And given the evaluations I've performed on nearly two dozen patients today... I expected that could only mean one thing.”

“This is an internal matter, Conall...” Elkredge says coldly. “I was just on the phone with Director Seraphine, and we'll be dealing with this on our own. Now you pull your ridiculous nose out of our asses and stick it somewhere else before I have to do something with your _background_.”

Conall is unfazed, though he does give Elkredge a curious glance. “The oversight of internal matters is precisely why I am here, Agent Elkredge. Or did you not realize that Director Seraphine tasked me with ensuring the mental health of the task force members?”

I can hear the grating sound of Jack's teeth. Putting my paws on his shoulders I pull him towards me again. He might still be a bit woozy from the discharge to his head, but he seems wound-up enough to have another nasty fit.

“Jack... please calm down. Everyone's here to help, okay?” I try to reassure him.

Elkredge looks flushed now. Normally the moose is so composed, so to see him _nervous_... “Fine. We'll get Jack an appointment with a ZIA counselor first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Too late for that, I'm afraid,” Dr. Conall say dismissively. “An attempted suicide is a _very_ serious matter. I'm ordering a psych hold on Agent Savage until a board-certified psychologist can certify that he is completely mentally stable.”

“ _NO!_ ” Jack belts out, in a voice louder than I would've believed him capable of making right now. “ _NO!_ He's working for them! Judy! Miles! _You get it, don't you?!_ ”

“Officer Hopps,” Dr. Conall turns to me, “You have a well-earned reputation for forthrightness, so I will trust that you will be honest... how long has Agent Savage been suffering from signs of paranoia?”

“ _YOU FUCKING SNAKE!!!_ ”

I grab onto Jack's shoulders and pin him against my body. He squirms, snarling like an animal.

“W-well...!” I grunt, partly because I'm struggling to calm Jack down, partly because I'm hesitating at the question. Looking back, Jack had seemed so suave, but that could've easily been a way for him to cover the more... aggressively suspicious thoughts he has about a lot of things. “I... I- unf! Don't think you could call it _paranoia_ per se. I mean, it's not crazy if- oof! -if everyone really _is_ out to get you, right? And... and the Vulpes Sanguinis, they...”

“She's right,” Elkredge's eyes narrow suspiciously. “In our line of work suspecting everyone is kinda par the course. Especially when the enemy is Rufinius Frisk.”

“Regardless, he needs to be committed,” Dr. Conall says. “I will speak to Director Seraphine on this matter.”

“Wait!” I squeak, “If Jack comes willingly standard procedure is a maximum forty-eight hour-”

“We will debate the specifics once he has been secured and is no longer a threat to himself or anyone else,” Dr. Conall says firmly.

In a short burst of energy, Jack nearly yanks himself out of my grip. Yet in a lightning-quick lunge, a terrifying display of strength from a black-furred predator, Conall's paw shoots out and presses Jack into the carpet. It's actually almost gentle, the way he does it, and expert in a way that says he's had to pacify other mammals before. Which is good for Jack, since he'd just suffered a major head injury.

“ _NO! NOOOOOO!!!!_ ” Jack yowls, thrashing. That smooth, slick, Secret Agent bunny persona has melted away completely now, and what's left is terrifying. Jack's frothing at the mouth, scratching and biting and kicking like someone who'd just taken a bite of Night Howler serum. His wild eyes dart back and forth around the room, and he's screaming about “TRAITORS!” “FUCKERS!”

And, in the most vicious tone he could manage:

“ _FOXES!!!!_ ”

All Elkredge can do is stand there wide-eyed, as his friend and colleague of so many years goes crazy. Just as savage as his namesake.

“If you please, Officer Hopps. Help me hold him down? I refuse to let my patients hurt themselves.”

Pushing aside the tension I'm feeling, I scramble over and grab one of Savage's paws, then the other. He's strong, but with his lack of sleep holding his limbs still is more successful than not.

“Jack!” I yelp, “ _Please,_ Jack! He's a doctor!”

Keeping Jack pinned seems like it's about as easy for Conall as holding a bug down with his thumb, almost entirely effortless. With his free paw Dr. Conall reaches into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a small metal case. Placing it on the ground he flicks it open. Inside is a row of five syringes, color-coded, no doubt, as doses for mammals of different sizes.

Plucking the syringe with a white label, Dr. Conall nips the cap with his teeth and pulls the needle free. Sedative drips from the pointed tip.

Jack lets out an anguished but soft “ _Aaaaaah..._ ” as the needle slides into his body in one smooth motion. His nails dig into my forearms. Tears spill from his cheeks. His toes splay and claw at the air in stiff tremors.

But soon his body relaxes, and his eyes begin to dim. Jack blinks, his mouth falling half-open as a warm hiss escapes his throat.

“It'll be all right, Jack...” I say, patting his cheek. This time, I do kiss him... on the forehead. The way a bunny does to a friend who's in a lot of pain.

“It'll be all right...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes: spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Turns out, a wee bit of cannabis helps make me much more introspective when I write. I feel like I'm getting better at lending a unique voice to Judy (or at least, my own personal take on Judy). I'm certainly enjoying writing from her POV a lot more lately, so this at least has been a great exercise to help me broaden my creative horizons.
> 
> And as usual I love writing Dr. Conall's scenes.
> 
> Even though I meant to post this next week, after I slept on it the last chapter felt like way too dark of a cliffhanger. But it definitely served a purpose for the plot, as we can see here. Jack's breakdown has finally removed him completely from his position, and now he's gonna be dragged straight to the loony bin. Maybe.


	38. An Old Riddle For the Kiddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack muses on his past and gets a ride in an ambulance. More ZIA files.

_**Jack Savage** _

 

_I flitted in and out of consciousness that whole time I lay curled up in that log. Dawn came, and rolled its way to dusk, and dawn again. I'd been hidden away in there for a full day and a night._

_It wasn't the urge to escape that pushed me to get out. It wasn't fear or freedom or Mom's last words to us, to escape to Bunnyburrow. By that point I'd gone completely numb inside. Not even hunger and thirst could motivate me._

_My legs were wobbly, stabbed full with pins and needles. I flopped to the forest floor in a heap, and limped over to my mother's body._

_For a long time I could only stare. She was so still now. Just completely inert. I couldn't even think of it as a body by this point... more like a doll or a pile of soft fur that vaguely resembled my mother. What was left of Mom was largely unrecognizable, thanks in large part to the ants. It hadn't taken them long._

_It must've taken another hour for me to pull myself out of my stupor. The sun was beating against my mud-coated back, comfortable at first, but by high noon it became unbearable._

_I began to stumble my way back to the Farm... slow and plodding, meandering back and forth in a broken stupor. I didn't know where Bunnyburrow was, how long it took to get there, or how I could possibly survive the trip. I just wanted to get back to what I knew. The fate I was going to meet, grim as it was, was a more comforting prospect than uncertainty._

_Long fingers of light shone down through the canopy of leaves. They lit the motes of dust dancing in the air, twining with the swarms of gnats. The forest rang with birdsongs and the soft chitters of insects. The air, cool and moist, tasted so clean. So unlike the stuffy little room I'd grown up in._

_It was a beautiful day._

_As I approached the perimeter I could hear voices in the distance. They weren't familiar, and they were too deep to belong to foxes. The accents were a hair off as well. One was more gruff. One was feminine and silky, but with a bite to it._

_“Take a moment, Margot. This wasn't your fault,” a male voice said._

_“We fucked up, Miles. We should've gotten here sooner. Maybe... maybe if we'd just...” replied a female._

_“I know. Believe me, I know.”_

_“That's gonna be a lot of bodies to process,” the female sighs. “All those bunnies... couldn't they have just taken these fellas with them?”_

_“Not if they wanted to move quickly. Besides, I suspect Rufinius never saw much value in 'em. His breeding experiments were always going to feature some castoffs.”_

_“Not that we'll ever know. It looks like he burned all the research notes he couldn't take with him. Get forensics and- who's there?!”_

_At that point I'd stumbled out from the foliage, dazed at what I'm seeing. A tall moose in a black suit and tie was staring down at me, next to a snow leopard in a similar outfit. Both of them were pointing their guns at me. I recognized their expressions... it was the same way Praetors looked when they were ready to kill._

_The female- Margot's eyes softened, and she lowered her pistol. “Oh my God... it's a bunny. One of them **survived**.”_

_The moose scanned the woods behind me as Margot approached. I collapsed to my knees, trembling like a leaf. I didn't make a sound. I didn't shed a single tear. There were none left by then._

_“Hey!” the moose- Miles shouted. “Hey! We need a medic over here!”_

_Warm paws wrapped around my mud-caked body. The feel of warm fur seemed alien and unfamiliar, and I began to spasm. My body's reacting, but... I should be feeling something now, shouldn't I? Elation, or at least fear of these strange new mammals?_

_But inside I still felt nothing, like a big claw had scooped out my soul._

_“Miles, I think he's having a fit,” Margot said, stroking my ears. “Shhh... it's all right, little bunny. Everything is going to be all right...”_

 

_~~~~~_

 

_I sat on the floor, examining at a spot on the carpet. A warm summer breeze gusts through the window next to me. In my paws I was holding the white stuffed bunny they'd given me immediately after my rescue. In the garden outside a matronly rabbit doe sat across from a familiar snow leopard. The guest was a bit too large to fit through the doors comfortably, so they'd settled for having tea outside._

_My foster mother was a plump, gray-furred rabbit and her white floral-patterned apron was dusted with flour. It looked like the blossoms were covered by winter snow._

_I mulled over the impossibility of it. Flowers would've been long dead by then._

_“I don't know how to manage him, Ms. Seraphine!” she said, close to tears. “I've tried everything I could, but he just... sits there. He doesn't speak, he doesn't play with the others. He just stares at them every moment of the day. He's disturbed, that boy is. Every bunny in the litter I've placed him with is terrified of him!”_

_“What has the therapist been saying?” Seraphine asked. There. That was her name. Margot Seraphine._

_“She hasn't seen a case of post-traumatic stress disorder this severe. It's completely out of her paws. The kit needs a specialist, and no one in Bunnyburrow has any expertise with this.”_

_Seraphine sighed, putting down her cup. “I'd... hoped that he could have a normal life here. Back in a proper warren.”_

_“Well he isn't adjusting as you'd hoped!” my foster mother said in a huff. “Just last week Mr. Giles came over to help fix our tractor. Nicest fox in the neighborhood, and all of a sudden the little beast launched himself at the poor tod. Mr. Giles had to get twelve stitches the way that little savage mauled him!”_

_Savage, she'd just called me._

_Jack the Savage. Had a nice ring to it._

_“I did warn you to keep him away from foxes until he got better.”_

_“Well we would've ushered him inside before the tod arrived, but I couldn't help it if Mr. Giles came early. After this episode I'm terrified of having him near any of the other kits! He sleeps in the living room now.”_

_“Well, I'm sure you won't object if I take him off your paws, then. I think I can find him the help he needs. In Zootopia.”_

 

~~~~~

 

_I was twelve years old, though adolescence had hit early and I'd plowed through my classes with fierce determination. Warwick was supposed to be the best boarding school in the area. Highly competitive, they'd warned all the prospective students. Not that it even came close to scaring me off though. Seraphine looked me up and down in my burgundy blazer and nodded in approval._

_She was hardly maternal, and had mostly been absent from my life even as my legal guardian. I was perfectly satisfied with that arrangement. Though I'd had a nanny to help raise me for a few years along with occasional visits from Uncle Elkredge, I'd made no real connections with anyone since I'd been rescued. My psychologist had told me this wasn't normal for a bunny. Or healthy._

_I hated psychologists._

_“You're entering a new environment soon,” said Seraphine. That's how I thought of her now. Not 'Mom.' Not 'Auntie.' Not even 'Margot.' Just Seraphine. “You really should take this opportunity to become more social. High school can be such a nasty environment, and having a close group of friends will be more valuable than you can imagine.”_

_“I'm familiar with the trope. I've watched Saturday morning cartoons, after all,” I told her, straightening my tie._

_“Jack, have you considered what you want to do after you graduate? What are your plans in life?”_

_“You know what they are, ma'am.”_

_“Yes. And I was hoping you would outgrow them.” This is how we are, two stoics playing off of each other thinking they're in the right. “The Count of Mousie Cristo seems like a fine old revenge tale, but reality rarely lives up to the stories.”_

_“That's fine by me...” I say, looking at Seraphine's reflection in the mirror. “I don't care about having a happy ending.”_

_Seraphine sighs, and she crouches down next to me. She cups my side with her paw, and I feel the weight of two large fingers on my shoulder. “Jack... with your grades and your athletic performance scores there's no doubt the ZIA would take you. But there are so many other things you are capable of that you haven't even_ _**considered** _ _. Why don't you join the ZPD instead? You could make detective within a couple of years, I'm sure of it.”_

_She'd done everything she could to discourage me. But when you're a teenager, every door that's slammed in your face looks like it's still just slightly ajar, waiting for you to push through._

_“No one knows about the Frisks more than me,” I said, brushing her paw off of my shoulder. “You've been trying to root them out for years, and you've got nothing to show for it.”_

_“Arrogant little kit...” Seraphine snorts._

_“You know it's true.”_

_“Jack, you've been a wealth of inside information. We have more than enough leads to hunt down the Vulpes Sanguinis now. Leave this to the professionals.”_

_“Oh I will,” I say, looking at my reflection in the mirror. In my mind's eye my wine-dark blazer is a solid ZIA black, “I'll leave it to the professionals for sure.”_

 

~~~~~

 

My eyelids feel oddly sticky, like it takes a solid effort to blink.

The padding beneath me is a thin layer of foam. Not very ergonomic given how my body is just refusing to sink into it properly. I try to move into a more comfortable position, but velcro straps are holding my arms and legs in place. The lights overhead are uncomfortable and I wince, turning my head away. My thoughts are so fuzzy around the edges, but little by little I'm beginning to sober up.

“It's all right, Agent Savage,” a hyena says as he leans over me. “We're taking you to the hospital to get your wounds treated. You're going to be just fine.”

There's a patch of raw flesh on the side of my head. Oh that's right... I'd tried to kill myself, hadn't I?

A honey badger in a ZMS uniform is adjusting my straps and stroking my head. I keep my body still, roll my head back and forth and blink, trying to get my bearings. The ambulance I'm riding in is rocking gently as we travel down the road.

It'd all become so clear the moment I saw that wolf in the doorway. This was precisely how the Vulpes Sanguinis operated. It isn't just about subterfuge and stealth. Knives in the dark, poison in a target's wine, and black roses carefully planted with each victim to spread fear and panic... That's all well and good. But Rufinius Frisk knows how to operate in crueler, more insidious ways than that.

He knows how to drive his pursuers _mad_.

Everyone in the precinct has seen me running on hazelnut roast and caffeine pills, so it was hardly a secret that I'd been sleep deprived through this whole case. Not many knew how bad it really was though. I get only an hour or two of sleep each night, tops. There'd been so much to do, so many things to deal with. And as I clawed my way through one week and the next the list of fuckups on my part kept growing.

The first warehouse fire had been the appetizer in a multi-course meal of major tragedies. The Blue lab raid, though successful on the surface, had been utterly botched simply because we'd only just missed the Sanguinis capturing Doug.

Then there'd been the attempt on Skye's life, and at first I'd thought that would be the biggest blow to my psyche. I'd tried to ignore the effect it was having on me at the time, but my mind was beginning to fracture. The suspicions were seeping in through the cracks.

Then I'd been captured by Nick Wilde and his goons. I'd been tortured by the fucking Smiler himself. I'd been strung up and made to shriek as the electricity coursed between my ears. The feeling of the jumper cables biting into my legs still haunts me at night, and the phantom sensation of the shocks ripping through my limbs jolts me out of my worst nightmares, leaving me cold and vulnerable like a newborn kit. Each time I'm left alone, gazing into yet another night where sleep just refuses to come.

When I escaped I'd thought the worst of it was over. I'd seen a faint glimmer of hope that it was finally coming to an end, that I'd be able to exact the justice I'd worked for these past twenty years. But the raid on the Twilight Cathedral... that utter _disaster_ , had proved Seraphine correct.

When it comes to tales of vengeance, reality rarely lives up to the stories.

“ _Andy..._ ” I whisper.

It's one thing to have hope then let it slip from your fingers. Even when you lose, you console yourself with the idea there had still been a chance. You'd at least _tried_ to succeed. But when I stared into my brother's body on that mortuary slab I knew that my entire life had been one immense failure.

While he'd been broken, trained, and given a new name for his life as a slave, I'd given him up for dead. I hadn't even considered that he might've still been living in Rufinius Frisk's clutches. Seeing those violet eyes of his, glassy and cold, I knew I'd fucked up even more than I could've imagined.

I'd never even tried to look for him. Never thought that there'd been a chance that he'd survived the purge. All these years I'd let myself become hard and cold like ice inside, when I could've spent my life trying to save him. Instead of fighting for the living I'd wasted my life trying to avenge the dead.

I could've been a better mammal.

But as I'd said before, nothing like a powder explosion to the side of your head to clear the old noggin'.

 _Why_ had Rufinius killed Andy? He knew we were coming. He knew we'd figured out the layout of the Twilight Cathedral. Why had he left my brother's body in such a relatively open place near the main entrance? Andy could've been dumped into the river, dissolved in acid, burned in an incinerator. To the Vulpes Sanguinis, he wasn't a bunny worth the bother of keeping. He wasn't even one of their four prize breeds, just a castoff from one of Rufinius' breeding experiments.

Just trash to be disposed of.

If I hadn't been so lost in shock when I first saw his body, what Dr. Therona said should've been an obvious clue as to what it meant.

_“By the muscle tone he must've expired a few days ago, but the condition of the body is quite well-preserved. I can only presume he'd been placed in cold storage shortly after he was killed.”_

Rufinius Frisk kept Andy's body. But it's not because Andy was valuable to _him_. But because he knew Andy was valuable to _me_. He wanted me to see the horror of what he'd done... that he'd made Andy into Wilde's plaything, then had him murdered just so he could be stuffed into a barrel and laid out onto a slab for me to see.

If the Prince couldn't kill me out in the open, he'd destroy me from the inside. He'd piled the failures and tragedies and mistakes onto my head until my sanity began to buckle. All he needed to do then was give one final, terrible push for me to go over the edge.

The Prince wanted to drive me insane.

But see, I know his game now. I'd worked to figure out his methods ever since Seraphine had me swaddled me in a blanket and plopped me in front of a shrink as a kit. Even before I joined the ZIA I would mull over how Rufinius would plot things, how he would use his keen instinct for sowing chaos and reaping the dividends with his terrifying intellect. My old foster mother, my foster litter, the nanny Seraphine had hired... they all thought I was catatonic when I would just sit and stare at the walls, holding my stuffed rabbit. The fact was, every waking moment I was rolling scenarios and plots and intrigues in my head. I was honing my mind. I was learning how to think the way the Prince thinks.

And that's why I know that Conall's in on it.

I never should've trusted that fucking wolf. A fucking wolf psychiatrist, which is even worse. It was the perfect way to have me bundled up and sent off to a secure facility under the guise of caring for my mental health.

Thing is, when you've been in as many ambulances as I have, you get to know some stuff. Like the fact that the first thing they do in an ambulance is take your blood pressure, and these two idiots don't look like they know their asses from a sphygmomanometer cuff.

And there's another thing I should mention... that sleep deprivation isn't just from caffeine.

Ever since I escaped the Smiler's torture chamber I knew I would never allow myself to get captured again. Wilde had proven how easy it was to incapacitate me with a simple tranq dart. It was something I had to take precautions against.

Stims weren't meant to be used like this. They're an emergency measure, something to use in the heat of combat to give you a performance edge, not unlike this new form of Blue the henchmammals had been doped up on. Increased nerve conduction, increased blood flow to the muscles, they turn the badass in you up a notch.

But much like I'd used a stim to revive myself once I was hit by that tranq dart, I'd been keeping a low dosage of the stuff in my system day-in, day-out. A heavy dose can help negate the effects of a tranquilizer, while the stuff that's currently flowing in my system helps make me a hair more resistant to it.

And that's why I've got enough strength in me to work my wrists. Every Agent has trained to escape from a variety of bonds, and the wraps for an ambulance gurney are on the simpler end of the scale. Can't have unruly patients hurting themselves in their struggle after all.

The real difficulty is when you're in wraps and sedated at the same time. And as I've mentioned.. I've taken measures to help protect against the latter.

“H-hey...” I croak. “Hey, hyena...”

The hyena medic leans in, turning his head so his ear is closer to my mouth. “Yeah? What's up, Agent Savage?”

“I've read your file.”

He hadn't noticed that my free paw had reached down to the switchblade strapped to my leg. With one flick of my thumb the razor-sharp edge is gleaming in the light, and in the next instant I've got the point buried in the side of the hyena's neck.

Fiver Almata. Originally arrested and sentenced to two years for petty crimes involving robbing an ice cream parlor while under the influence. Suspected of at least two assaults, though those charges couldn't be proven in court. Hobbies include skeet shooting and brewing cheap beer.

The honey badger lets out a squeal as I rip the blade free. The hyena's black paws shoot to his neck, desperately clutching his open throat even as blood fountains from the wound. It rains down on me, soaking my fluffy hide down to the skin and filling the air with a thick, metallic stink.

I know the honey badger. Horace Mellison. Originally sentenced to eight years for sexual assault, though was returned to prison on a parole violation when he was caught using Blue. Was found with an immense pornography collection on his computer, though charges of possessing illegal images was dropped in exchange for a guilty plea.

I heave myself off of the gurney, and drive the knife straight into the honey badger's eye. A vicious twist helps to stir his brains into mush.

He spasms as he falls. With my ankles still strapped down, he ends up flipping the gurney and dragging me with him.

Twenty-one mammals. Twenty-one ex-cons who had been released prematurely by the acting District Attorney after Tarquin Vash was forced by the Prince to resign. All of them released by the system due to mitigating circumstances or the petty natures of their crimes. All of them typified by poor impulse control and/or violent tendencies. Easy to manipulate, and entirely disposable in the Prince's eyes.

Most of them should be dead or captured by now, but I've just taken down two more of Frisk's goons.

The ambulance pulls to a screeching halt just as I finish uncuffing my ankles and hopping to my feet. When the driver looks back at us his jaw drops. Those eyes widen as he sees the bodies, the wrecked gurney, the blood. And me, with the switchblade tight in my dripping paw.

I recognize the boar who's going all wall-eyed at me. Eustace Scroff. Sentenced to five years in prison for manslaughter. Recovering alcoholic. In prison was exceptionally fond of crossword puzzles, Sudoku, and riddles.

Riddles... well... there's a thought.

Hey, kiddos. Wanna hear a joke? Sure you do. What's black and white and red all over?

 _Me_ , motherfucker. Jack fucking Savage.

_**Come at me**_ **.**

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA INCIDENT REPORT PIR-178.27 (STATUS: SEALED TO THE SHADOW ARCHIVE)** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 5 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-5 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **DESIGNATION:** Operation Chenoo (AKA “The Cairo Incident”)

 

 **DATE:** June 8, 2010

 

 **AGENTS INVOLVED:** [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED]

 

 **CASUALTIES:** 2 ZIA Agents, 5 civilians, 1 ZIA informant.

 

 **BACKGROUND:** At the urging of Agent [REDACTED] in response to the exchange of intelligence from the International Security Conference of 2009, the ZIA began to institute a policy of stronger foreign intervention particularly with regards to the organization known as the Vulpes Sanguinis. Though limited investigations have often been conducted (usually with the cooperation of foreign governments), the new push against the Sanguinis under Directer Brett Sable's tenure showed great promise in curbing the activities of international criminal organizations.

 

Following a series of successful counter-operations against Sanguinis from 2009 to 2010, in early 2011 foreign informants were able to provide information regarding the whereabouts of Jacob Cornelius Frisk (codename: Prodigal). As the putative heir of the Vulpes Sanguinis and with reports of him being the Frisk's Master-at-Arms, Jacob Frisk has been considered a high priority target.

 

Agent [REDACTED] proposed a bold and aggressive operation for his capture. Five ZIA operatives were selected by Agent [REDACTED] who headed the mission.

 

 **DETAILS:** Upon arriving in Cairo in June 4, 2011, Agents [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] established contact with the local informant. Said informant confirmed a planned slave auction that was to be overseen by Jacob Frisk. Though it was a modest affair with only six bunnies on the block, Agent [REDACTED] made the executive decision to move quickly and aggressively before the Sanguinis could get word of ZIA involvement.

 

The planned assault occurred in [REDACTED]. However, though the Sanguinis was caught by surprise, the preparations that had been made against ZIA involvement gave them a decisive tactical advantage. With [REDACTED] and the intervention of [REDACTED], an attempt was made to [REDACTED]. In the confusing shootout that occurred, ZIA Agents [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] were killed in action. In addition, 4 local civilians lost their lives, one of whom was Tahir Jamaali, the first son of Makeen Jamaali of the Sahrastani Parliament.

 

It was at this point that the mission was declared a Code Black operation.

 

 **AFTERMATH:** Due to the political ramifications of the botched mission, Agent [REDACTED] was forced to silence one civilian witness. After a prompt interrogation, the informant by the name of [REDACTED] was also neutralized.

 

Jacob Frisk and his retinue evaded capture. None of the bunnies were rescued.

 

Although Code Black protocols were executed and the responsibility for the debacle was shifted to Fundamentalist Tigrian insurgents, rumors of ZIA involvement in the Cairo Incident nonetheless reached Zootopia's City Council. In an attempt to divert a government investigation, Director Brett Sable submitted his resignation claiming health issues prevented him from continuing with his duties.

 

By August of 2011, then-Council Member Leodore Lionheart nominated Agent Margot Seraphine (ID# 014) based on her twenty-five years of experience in the ZIA, as well as her more cautious approach of diplomatic outreach and her preference for greater oversight of ZIA operations. Seraphine was appointed with a two-thirds majority, and replaced Interim Director Brighton by the end of the year.

 

As of March 2016, Sahrastan remains classed as restricted territory for ZIA operations.

 

 

 _Addendum 1 (April 4, 20XX):_ I am hereby authorizing that this file be sealed to the Shadow Archives, and am ordering all copies of PIR-178.27 be purged from ZIA databases. Anyone found to be revealing the contents or even the existence of PIR-178.27 without my authority are to be immediately terminated and detained. ~The Director

 

~~~~~

 

_**ZIA POST-INCIDENT PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION PIPE-259.54 (STATUS: SEALED TO THE SHADOW ARCHIVE)** _

 

_**The following file is classified and restricted to operators possessing Security Clearance Level 5 and above. Those NOT possessing an SCL-5 or higher who continue to read this document face SEVERE DISCIPLINARY ACTION under Zootopia's State Security Code 114.23.** _

 

 **INCIDENT:** Operation Chenoo (AKA “The Cairo Incident”)

 

 **DATE:** June 13, 2010

 

 **OPERATIVE INTERVIEWED:** Agent [REDACTED]

 

 **ATTENDING PSYCHIATRIST:** Doctor [REDACTED]

 

**TRANSCRIPT AS FOLLOWS:**

 

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** How are you doing, [REDACTED]?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I'm fine. Director Sable will tell you I'm doing just dandy.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** I'm afraid Director Sable isn't conducting this evaluation, [REDACTED]. So please, tell me... have you been experiencing any disturbances in your daily routine?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I've been sleeping like a baby and I'm continuing my crocheting without incident.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** I feel like you're not taking this seriously.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** And I feel like this is a waste of time.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Is there someone else you would like to speak to instead?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** They'll just get the same answer.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** I see. Could you please take a look at this photograph?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I don't want to see that.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Do you know his name, [REDACTED]?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I said get that the fuck away from me.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** I apologize, [REDACTED]. But it appears you're suffering from acute anxiety.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** You show me a picture of a dead body, no fucking shit I'm gonna have anxiety.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** It never bothered you before.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** That was just a kid.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Yes. Tahir Jamaali.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** What do you want? That's not on our team, you know. He died because the Praetors-

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Please calm down, [REDACTED]. This isn't an interrogation. I'm just here to evaluate your mental state.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** Fine, fine. I'm sorry, all right? Let's just get this over with.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** It's perfectly normal to experience PTSD when a mission experiences these sorts of difficulties.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** “Difficulties.” You mean it all went to a flaming pile of shit.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** So how _have_ you been doing? Please be honest now.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I can't sleep. I barely eat. [REDACTED] knows something's wrong but I can't tell her. I can barely get it up now. All I want is to lose myself in the sheets I can't even get _that_ done. Can you imagine? It's fucking humiliating.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** All perfectly normal given what happened. Erectile dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed of, and it's very likely temporary.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** I don't want any pills.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Well let's table that for now and get to the heart of the matter. What exactly has been keeping you up at night?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** Do you really have to ask? I had to kill two innocent mammals.

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** And what are your thoughts on that?

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** It's... I never thought I'd ever have to do that. But once I ordered a Code Black designation there was no going back. No witnesses. The bystander was just some tourist... it was quick for him. He never saw it coming. But the informant, [REDACTED]... she was fucking terrified. Kept promising she wouldn't say anything. The woman's worked for the ZIA for eight years passing us intel but... she-

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** Take a moment if you need it, [REDACTED].

 

(At this point the subject needs a few minutes to compose himself)

 

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** Look, I'm better than this. I've seen some shit on this job, but I'll do my duty. Just put me on psych leave, I'll talk it over with a ZIA shrink, whatever it takes. I just want this to be over and get back into the field, okay?

 **Dr. [REDACTED]:** I'm glad to hear that. You do very good work for the Agency, [REDACTED], and you're an invaluable resource to our organization. I want to see you back in the field too. But for now you need to look after yourself.

 **Agent [REDACTED]:** Yeah sure. After all the shit I've seen in my life I know I can handle this. I have to.

 

 _Addendum 1 (April 4, 20XX):_ I am hereby authorizing that this file be sealed to the Shadow Archives, and all copies of this report removed from the psych unit's files. ~The Director

 

 _Addendum 2 (October 14, 20XX):_ In light of recent events I am granting Dr. Isaac Mohegan Conall (Guest ID# 001) access to this file along with other relevant psych reports that have been sealed to the Shadow Archive. It really has come to this. ~The Director

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes: Spoilers Ahead!)
> 
> Despite my best intentions I don't think I'll be able to make that push through to the end like I wanted, though I am trying to accrue as much writing as possible I don't think I can get the 1-2 chapters a day I had in IAFT since I have other obligations in life. Still, least I could do is post one or two a week! I'd hate to leave you guys hanging.
> 
> It was also nice to get a little of Jack's backstory in. There are so many versions of Jack Savage... from goofball British Jack to suave Jack to borderline crazy Jack and I love them all. But having someone who is all-out disturbed and on the brink of madness is just too much fun. TBH, I'm getting a little worried I may not be able to write someone who is more midline and well-adjusted. Something I'll have to practice later on.
> 
> In regards to Jack's escape, it's based partly on a testimony I once read of a psych patient who had to be put in isolation. Standard procedure was to place them in “leathers” (cuff them to the bed) as well as sedate them so they're too drugged up to squirm out (the latter of which can indeed happen).
> 
> As I explained in the chapter, though the dose of barbituates knocked Jack out temporarily the fact that he had stims in his system meant he could metabolize it and shake off the effects more quickly. And him being a skinny little rabbit also meant he could slip out of them more easily. Plus larger mammals who weren't even EMS workers probably didn't know how to handle him in any case.
> 
> The ZIA notes I hammered out last night. Originally I felt I needed to bring more to this chapter since Jack's section was only like 4.5 pages long total, but the ZIA notes provide more crucial details, especially in reference to the mentions of Cairo that I'd sprinkled around earlier. The more I worked on it the more I felt it was necessary.
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention that in Chapter 36 I accidentally made a neat reference with regards to the raid on the Frisk breeding facility, calling it “Operation Oranos.” Originally I just wanted a grandiose name, but only after publishing it did I realize that the name fits pretty nicely. Oranos (also spelled Uranus: father to Kronos and grandfather to Zeus) was the original great Father God of the Greek pantheon, whose tyrannical rule led him to being deposed and castrated.
> 
> Expect the next chapter within the next couple of days.
> 
> Final note: I still remember the first time I heard that joke. "What's black and white and red all over?" It was from my uncle who died of a stroke a few years back. Super sweet guy with a gentle voice and always wanted the best for everyone.


	39. When the Evidence Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufinius tends his rose garden, Judy has an enlightening conversation.
> 
> (I also just updated the story yesterday, so don't miss the chapter 38 if you haven't seen it!)

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

The vast majority of the Praetors I'd brought with me are dead. All the henchmammals I'd pressed into service have all been killed or captured. The sanctum of my predecessors is now a smoldering wreckage, and the ZIA and ZPD wander its broken halls.

Worst of all, Jack Savage has slipped from my grasp.

I am not accustomed to losing so much in such a short span of time. This was supposed to have been a decisive victory. That I was forced to sacrifice the Twilight Cathedral had been both unavoidable and necessary. Unavoidable because my grandson thought to betray us to his fellows in the ZPD. Necessary to kill or trap the bulk of the Agents and Officers below ground while my Praetors pinned down Savage's reserve force, and my henchmammals field tested this new batch of Blue.

I had prepared for some losses. The henchmammals would've easily occupied the ZPD while my Praetors made their hasty exit. Perhaps the ZPD could've mobilized some police helicopters for air support and killed a few.

But this new paramilitary unit, the RACERs... they had entered the field of battle like a sudden storm, faster than any fox could've managed. They'd lived up to their name, racing in from outside our radius of surveillance to gun down my Praetors before they'd had time to respond. To lose so many, all at once...

Wisdom tells me to leave this city. To cut my losses and return North to my true base of operations where the future of the Vulpes Sanguinis would be secure. I could spend the rest of my life putting Bacchus to shame: feasting and fucking myself into a blissful grave among my rose gardens and catnip fields. Perhaps I could take my pleasure on the field bunnies, choke the life out of a few males while imagining that it's Savage's face turning purple beneath my grin and their dying spasms squeeze around me.

But no. That is selfishness, not wisdom. I returned to this crass, commercialized shithole of a city with three goals in mind: to secure my heir. To weaponize this fascinating new Night Howler derivative and corner the market on Blue now that catnip is slowly becoming legalized, undercutting my secondary business ventures. And to take back what had been stolen from me.

My Tiger Lily.

The markets have been hungry for a new breed for years. Tigria in particular, the land where stripes are the ultimate mark of beauty and status, would go wild. The money would've flowed into our vaults like honeyed wine. With a new and brilliant heir, the Vulpes Sanguinis would rise to stratospheric heights on the world stage, and I can die in peace.

But that will not be.

Not only has Savage escaped my grasp, but my grandson has proven himself to be a treacherous little bastard. He has some cleverness to be sure, and perhaps if I had more time his youthful passions could've been tempered. Yet I cannot leave my legacy in his paws, unreliable as they are.

I knew he would've been just like The Prodigal. I had seen that same innocent, wide-eyed expression on his father's face, when he'd first begged me to protect his family. Back then I had been a hair more brash and a even touch sentimental. I'd ignored my instincts, and had promised to keep his whore and whelp within the protection of my shadow.

How much easier would it have been, to have simply let the Leonis Pride murder the vixen? I could have taken the kit in under my wing then, shown a younger and more malleable Nicholas where his true loyalties should lie. The death of a loved one at that tender age would've made him even more open to my influence. The pain of losing a mother on one end, and coaxing him with the visceral pleasures of his birthright on the other... Oh yes. It would've been o easy to shape him into a proper Frisk.

But as it was, I was bound by my word. Because of that moment of weakness, because I had yielded to the pleas of my progeny, we are now at this juncture. The bulk of my forces dead, when my Praetors ended up on the wrong end of a carefully planned massacre. Jack Savage still free. My son sterile and my grandson untrustworthy and undeserving of the title of Prince.

And so I remain here in our safehouse in the Canyondlands, pondering my next move. We'd moved the essentials when we vacated the Twilight Cathedral. We have the money from the Vault, of course. A few of the more valuable paintings and historical artworks. My rosebushes.

I tend to my garden. It always helps to soothe the nerves, exercising my more nurturing qualities. I sprinkle a touch of powdered limestone around the base of the plant to balance out the soil's acidity. Digging around the dirt with my fingers, I pluck out the old fragment of gypsum and the steel nail I'd placed to help provide minerals. Switching these out whenever I bring a rosebush into a new environment is an old habit of mine. More one of those small superstitions you develop with age than anything rational, but comforting nonetheless. A good watering follows until the soil is rich and moist, before I layer on some fresh mulch.

Nicholas watches the process, trying to appear interested. Sebastian and Mr. Smythe stand off to the side as both my guards and his chaperones. The two of them do an excellent job of melting into the background, unlike Nicholas.

I wash my paws with the watering can and the nearby towel, then pick up my shears.

I glance at my grandson from the corner of my vision. His eyes are red-rimmed and heavy with sleepless nights. I've yet to provide him a new bedmate, though I doubt he wanted any company. Being forced to watch Pearl die... I know that Nicholas would've taken it hard. This reaction however had still caught me by surprise. It is hard to imagine someone investing so much emotion in a mere bunny.

“Marcus Asner...” I say, not even glancing in Nicholas' direction as I begin to prune my rosebush, “the hacker. He has helped set up your new computer console, as I understand it.”

“Yes...” Nicholas replies in a dull, flat tone. “He's been able to patch me through to the ZPD's computer system. I've been keeping up with their internal memos and...”

He trails off. The tod's been completely unfocused.

“Must I ask?”

He blinks as if suddenly waking from a stupor, then shakes his head. “No, my Prince. I'm sorry. The ZPD's got civil engineers working around the clock, trying to dig mammals out. They're still counting the bodies, and the mole teams were able to make contact with some of the mammals trapped behind some of the collapsed sections. They're guessing it'll take at least a week to dig everyone out. In the meantime teams of smaller mammals are using the access tunnel to provide food and medicine.”

“That is nothing I didn't already know, Nicholas. The information you've provided could just as easily have been gathered from ZNN.”

“I'm... sorry, my Prince.”

He bows his head, in a near perfect mimicry of deference to my authority. He truly is his father's son.

“I have tried to make this easy on you...” I sigh, the hard snips of my shears punctuating my tone. “I did my best to treat you with a light paw. I did not ask you to betray your ZPD comrades, and when Jack Savage turned them against you I welcomed you with open arms. What have I been, if not gentle and patient with you, until you chose to betray me?”

With one final snip from the rosebush I put the shears down. Planting my paws on the table I sigh.

“Do you know what is the most frustrating thing about being a parent, Nicholas?” I say, still with my back to him. “It's that you see subtle hints of yourself in your progeny. And for a few short years those similarities let the two of you resonate to a certain degree. Yet by adolescence he begins to resent it. He refuses to have anything to do with you. All that is left then is for you watch as your child stumbles through the same mistakes you made in your youth, and when you try to correct him he resents you even more. He simply refuses to _listen_.”

Nicholas throat bobs in an audible gulp. “I'm... sorry to have disappointed you.”

“You misunderstand me, my boy. I am not disappointed in you in the slightest, and that is precisely the problem,” I finally glance over my shoulder at him. “Disappointment requires that I had expectations of you to begin with. I have tried very hard to take you in as my own, to see the Frisk in you. Yet despite my best efforts, and through all the chances I've given you and my attempts to overlook the clear distaste you have for how things are done... I see nothing of my bloodline when I look into your eyes.”

Nick's dull gaze takes on a bright gleam all of a sudden, when he looks down at the rose I'm holding out for him. A black rose, with the petals' edges fringed with a bloody scarlet.

A Sanguine Shadow.

“N-no...” Nick lets out a choked sound as he backs away. He glances to Sebastian, who already has a knife out and is teasing his fangs with the pointed tip. Mr. Smythe's paws are hidden beneath his black cloak, his eyes cold and dead like a corpse's.

“No, please! Y-you still need me! The- the family, right?!”

“There are other ways to ensure my bloodline, Nicholas,” I say, holding the rose almost casually now. “When you first gave that semen sample to Dr. Allister... surely you didn't expect it was simply for fertility tests? It's been banked in a freezer in the event that something happened to you. And before we moved, Rhona had our Three Graces come to the medical bay...”

Nicholas claps his paws to his muzzle, eyes widening in horror. His knees tremble, and his legs give out from under him.

“But that said...” I tilt my head, before tossing the rose aside. “I will not be killing you today. A Prince must use his resources carefully, and wastefulness is a grave sin. But I can no longer trust you. Aiding in the release of Jack Savage was betrayal enough. And now I have learned that you not only entered the Twilight Cathedral to save your pet bunny, but you also led her to the escape tunnel.”

“I...” Nicholas scrubs a paw over his head, “I had to. Judy... I had to protect her...”

“You need to accept the proper order of things, my boy. Bunnies were born to be fodder for foxes. To serve alongside them, to see them as _equals_... it is obscene.”

“If she died, I...”

For a moment his tone hardens, but I simply need to raise an eyebrow and glare down at him for the boy to fall silent. He should've grown out of his phase of youthful rebellion by now, but I cannot begrudge the fact that he still has a little fire in his belly. All I can expect him to do is to keep it under control.

“Mr. Smythe, escort Nicholas to his room. Have Brutus keep him company.” The polar bear is hardly a good conversationalist, but he will help ensure that Nicholas doesn't leave.

“Sebastian,” I say just as the two leave, closing the door behind them. With them out of earshot sI return to my roses as I chat. “What would you say if I asked you to kill the boy?”

“I would ask what method you prefer, my Prince,” Sebastian grins. “Slow or quick, however you like. I am always happy to serve.”

“Yes...” I say. “You always _are_ happy, aren't you?”

When I first learned of Sebastian Dusk's unique psychosis I knew I had to take advantage of it. Though he was an outsider without the faintest drop of Frisk blood in his veins I knew he would be invaluable.

In my line of work trust is always the most precious resource. Growing up my older siblings had always schemed against one another, fighting for our father's favor. One could never fully take another at their word in such an environment, and betrayals were common with a constantly shifting field of allegiances. In the end, the infighting had weakened the Vulpes Sanguinis and made us more vulnerable to our enemies.

What the ZIA now calls the Blood Wars had been the foundry where my rise to power had been forged. With my siblings dead I, once considered the runt of the litter, the foppish youth you spent his pleasure in botany and bunnies, was the only one remaining to take on the mantle of Prince.

If any thought me weak it was to their detriment. All who underestimated me had been crushed beneath my heels. One by one I eliminated the rival First Families, purged the Sanguinis of the weak and corrupt. And though we had to flee Zootopia, in our new beginnings abroad I was ever aware that I could never fully trust my fellow foxes.

Except one.

Treachery does not breed in a vacuum. It feeds on discontentment. Frustration is its bread and bitterness its wine. Those around you are loyal only so far as their needs are met and their vices satisfied. When they are not, greed and desire eat away at the authority you've worked for so long to cultivate. Such is the razor's edge a tyrant must walk. The same heavy paw he uses to rule creates a pressure that can break his organization as easily as it might tempter it. Fear can keep the disloyal in line, but that is always a temporary measure.

Sebastian Dusk however... he is unable to feel discontent. He no longer feels frustration or bitterness or even fear. Something in his mind had broken long ago, and now his cheery demeanor is all he has left. He has no vices that can go unfulfilled, no dreams that he must defer. The factors that lead to disloyalty have been ripped from his soul.

It is for this reason that I had chosen him to be my envoy, and a backup protege if our bloodline truly did end. A loathesome thought, to place the leadership of the Sanguinis in the paws of a fox who isn't even a half-breed mongrel. Yet as a temporary regent... yes, that will suffice.

I will not live long to see it, the rise of a new generation of Frisk. Yet I can die assured that Sebastian and Rhona will raise my great-grandchildren to be my true heirs.

In the interim, I'll simply have to consider other uses for Nicholas.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

_I just had to take a photo of this._

_Nick was sprawled on his back on the end of the bench, mouth open with his tongue flopping down the side of his jaw. It'd been a nice little surprise to come back to the precinct cafeteria and find that blueberry cobbler had been on the lunch menu. And to have so much left over, too!_

_It was about 3:00 when we got back to the City from the academy grounds. While it sounds like it'd be early to be off duty now, you gotta remember that we'd been running training courses and getting evaluated on our performance since six in the morning. Agent Savage... Jack... he'd really put me through the ringer, and if the evaluations were tough for me Nick had suffered twice as bad. He's never had the best stamina, and it certainly doesn't help that his sleep schedule is all kinds of messed up because of his nocturnal-ness._

_So now I was watching him as he slept, the way I know he's watched me. It's funny, the things you notice about someone when they're asleep. Probably because it'd be weird to stare at them like this when they're awake. Like the tufts of cream-colored fur on the insides of his ears, long and silky. Or the gradient of darkening fur along his arm, from fiery red to a dark cocoa-brown. Bits of pie crumbs and blue glaze cling to his muzzle, and a thin trickle of drool is beginning to puddle along the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows aren't cocked the way they usually are, and his mouth isn't pulled into that little smirk of his. Sleeping-Nick just looks so innocent. Like a big ol' kit._

_Even his fangs don't look at all threatening. I mean, I did my best to be open-minded, but there was still a period way back when he'd let his guard down around me and flash a grin and a sharp, primitive chill would run up my spine. I'd felt awful about it, of course... Nick had told me about how predators always have to be super careful about not showing their teeth around us prey mammals. There'd been a time when that sorta thing could get you arrested, even killed if you showed fangs in the wrong company._

_I mean sure, it was hard enough to get taken seriously as a bunny cop here in Zootopia, but at least no one was **afraid** of me. At least I didn't have to worry about getting assaulted by some spooked ram when I walked out the door._

_My mind drifted back to Tommy Daywood then. We'd taken him on that ride-along as promised, showed him what we did on our rounds. He was smart enough to not expect any dramatic chases or frantic pursuits. In fact, most of the time he just sniffed around from the backseat while we drove around on patrol. I could see his tail twitching in the rear-view mirror whenever he leaned in close. He really was a cute kit, though I tried not to encourage his all-too-obvious crush on me. Just treated him like he was one of my younger brothers._

_I really hoped that if me and Nick ever did get to adopt a fox he'd be as clever and sweet as Tommy. I know I'd agreed to it, but it was still kinda daunting to think about settling down and raising a kit at my age. Like, sure my siblings had started families when they were younger than me, but that didn't mean I was ready for it myself. There was my career to think about, after all!_

_But doing that ride-along, treating Tommy to a Bug-Burga and some mango smoothies and hearing him talk about his first year of high school... it kinda sparked something maternal in me. And I just couldn't **wait** to start a family with Nick._

_Of course, it sparked something else in me that night too, and thankfully we had the following day off because Nick had to beg me to stop on our fourth go. Even when we got back to work on Monday he had to shuffle into the precinct all bow-legged. Finnick had laughed himself hoarse when he heard about **that** one over drinks._

_I mean, our relationship is still in its early stages, but it just felt so **right** for us to be together._

_Leaning in closer, I reached up and ran my paw along Nick's muzzle. With an early morning, a day of heavy exercise, and a belly full of blueberry pie he was completely zonked out. I slid a finger into his mouth, gently exploring his gumline and feeling along the rounded curves of his teeth. They're so pearly white, and as I test the pointed tips of his fangs I feel nothing but pure curiosity._

_Why had I ever been afraid of him?_

_Nick's eyes pop open then, and he glances down at me._

_“Uhh... Carrotth? What are oo doing?”_

_Flushing, I pull my paw back and wipe the damp bit of his saliva on my leg. “Oh! W-well... can't a girl admire her fox?”_

_“Yes,” Nick said, looking a bit perplexed, “Yes, she can. Though y'know, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I accidentally bit you in my sleep.”_

_I give him a friendly punch in the shoulder, which earns a wince. I swear, Nick is about delicate as a ripe peach, he bruises so easily._

_“Don't be silly. I know you'd never hurt me.”_

_His mouth widens into his trademark smirk then. “No, Carrots. No I wouldn't.”_

 

~~~~~

 

Thinking about it, I've been making a lot of visits to the hospital lately.

First there was Nick after he was attacked by Shepsfield. Then poor Danny, who'd gotten in the way of an assassination attempt. And then Benjy after he'd taken a bullet to the head.

It's just past lunch on a weekday, and I'm just in my lavender blouse and a pair of old jeans. The task force had been disbanded, though Elkredge is still managing what's left at the ZPD now that Jack's gone missing. And after what'd happened, all officers involved had been placed on mandatory psych leave. The therapists the ZPD had available were so backlogged Dr. Conall couldn't even spare me two words. It'll be a week before I can get my first appointment with him.

I'm carrying a potted _Chrysanthemum morifolium_ with me. It's a really pretty bright yellow varietal, so it's nice and cheerful. Practical, too: the blossoms smell nice, it helps clean indoor pollutants, and they're mighty tasty with a touch of honey. For some reason though most other mammals don't eat flowers.

Of course, this isn't just a social call.

When I enter her room Agent Skye is sitting in her wheelchair. She isn't as banged up as I'd imagined, just her right paw is in a cast. And she's at least strong enough to hold a PawPad with it as she taps away on the screen with the other. Skye doesn't seem surprised when she looks up at me. There's this tiredness around her eyes and she seems thinner, but Skye nonetheless greets me with a faint smile.

“Officer Hopps...” she says softly. “I've been expecting you.”

I tilt my head. “You have?”

“Spooky, huh?” she lets out a faint chuckle. “Believe it or not I've been keeping myself updated on the task force situation. Miles keeps telling me I need to relax. Keep myself from getting too stressed while I recover. But fuck it, that's what lorazepam is for.”

“So you know why I'm here then.”

“Yep,” Skye tosses her PawPad onto her bed. “Both of us are- or were- in interspecies relationships... a fox and a bunny. Both of our erswhile lovers have gone rogue and are probably trying to kill each other. And both of us are recovering from some pretty traumatic ordeals. Thanks for the chrysanthemum, by the way. I love it.”

I place the pot on the dresser before I approach her. “You know, I'd planned on approaching you more delicately. I mean... how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected. It doesn't hurt as much as you might think, physically speaking,” Skye shrugs. “I'm getting some pins-and-needles below my waistline, so the spinal damage isn't as bad as they first believed. The doctors think that with rehab I should be able to walk again. But chances are...” she trails off, eyes staring past me for a moment before she blinks and looks down to me again. “Sorry. They had to put twenty-something surgical pins in me, so you can probably imagine I'm on a _lot_ of drugs.”

“Should... should I...?” I ask, trying to be delicate as I point to the door. The last thing I want is to interfere with her recovery.

“Please don't. You know how long it's been since I had company? Miles has been visiting me every other day, but he's hardly personable. Plus I never liked the stink of tobacco that comes with him. Jack was so eaten up by guilt that he couldn't bring himself to visit me after I first woke out of my coma. Hell-bent on revenge, I'm sure. And Lenny and Adrienne...”

She sighs, rubbing the side of her head. “Adrienne didn't deserve to go like that. The poor gal was always terrified of fieldwork- she was happiest when she was tinkering. And Lenny... they're still digging through the rubble for a lot of the survivors. No clue whether he's alive or dead yet. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is I'm absolutely happy to see you. Especially since my closest friends are unavailable.”

“I'm just...” I begin, but I need to catch myself to keep from choking up again. The past couple days Danny and Luke were just so worried about me, they'd tried to get me to stay over again. And cuddling up with someone when we're distraught... that's what comes naturally to us bunnies.

But not for me, not this time. I couldn't face anyone after what'd happened. They called me a hero for leading the medics and engineering team down through the tunnels. Can you believe it? Me, a hero. Like it wasn't my fault it'd happened. Like I wasn't the one who convinced Jack that Nick could be trusted.

What had _happened_? Was I just stupid? Or was Nick just _that_ good of a liar that he'd completely fooled me? I'd clawed at my mind scraping for some other explanation. I wanted so _desperately_ to believe that he wasn't involved, but the optimist in me might as well still be trapped underground with all the other officers.

For two days after Jack's disappearance I'd laid curled-up in my bed, surrounded by the plush bunnies I'd brought back from home. I'd tried to find some comfort in them like I usually did, and it helped a little. By the time I stopped crying I'd just felt completely numb inside.

Thank goodness Luke and Danny came by to visit for a wellness check. My phone had run down on its battery since I hadn't bothered to plug it in, and since I hadn't responded to their string of texts they'd gotten worried. I hadn't even realized I'd neglected to eat anything for two days... I'd had maybe a glass of water at most. Even then I just wasn't hungry.

All of this is going through my mind as Agent Skye waits patiently, pretending not to notice the awkward silence I'd been locked in as memories of the past two days comes back to me in a gray fog. I scrub my eyes and sniff before I try again.

“I'm... just... I don't know what to make of it, Skye. It's like everything I know about the world... everything I know about the people around me has been turned upside-down. Like I don't have any control over my life.”

Maybe I should just go back to Bunnyburrow. But then I'd have all my brothers and sisters asking me how Nick's doing, or they'd be looking at me and wondering and the fact that I don't know how to answer would probably break me for sure, if I hadn't snapped already.

“I think mammals would find life a lot easier if they understood how little control they actually have,” Skye murmurs, gazing out of the window. “Fact is, most mammals who weren't born to privilege tend to get swept away by forces much bigger than us.”

“That's... a very bleak way of looking at things.” A while ago I would've pushed back against that sentiment, but now I just don't have the energy.

“It's the truth we're born into,” Somehow Skye still sounds warm as she says it. “Besides, that was the topic of your commencement speech last year, wasn't it? That we may not be able to make the world perfect, but the very least we can do is try. Try to make the world a better place.”

I feel myself flush. Gosh I can't believe someone remembered that one.

“Do you know how I first met Jack?” Skye asks. I shake my head. “Well, of course you don't... that's classified. But... growing up I was a lot like Nick, you know? Vixen from the slums, thought I was too smart for school. I had a lot of resentment towards authority too. You probably don't wanna know the string of jobs I had when I was still a teenager...”

She props her chin on her knuckles, then smiles down at me. “You know, I really envy you, Hopps. Small town girl, nice family. Never had to get entangled in anything nasty. It might sound like I'm gonna be bitter about it, but I'm really not.

“Fact is after a few rough years I started a pretty lucrative career as a burglar. Was damn proud of it, too. I could break into any manor, breach any commercial security system. It's why Seraphine recruited me once I was caught. Working for the ZIA was my ticket out of Highwatch.

“Seeing you and Nick together... it really reminded me of the early years with me and Jack, y'know? Going on missions... we honestly didn't know what the hell we were doing. We had our training, our skills, and a shitton of luck. But so much of it was just improv. There'd been so many times when we'd almost gotten killed. But each time we got back from a successful operation the two of us would spend a whole night just... well, I'm sure you know what I mean.

“But then at the beginning of each new each mission I'd also go into it knowing that there was a chance I'd never come back. That no matter how stealthy or smart or quick I was, I was going up against some pretty evil organizations and ultimately things were out of my control. Each time was a toss of the dice. It was scary and thrilling and sweet all at once. But in the end, a lot of it was just pure circumstance.

“I guess what I'm saying is... nothing is certain, Hopps. For five years I lived each day like it was my last, and for five sweet years I was able to run alongside Jack. And whatever happens now, I'm proud of that. I tried my best.”

“Thanks, Skye...” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “That... was really personal, and really beautiful. But I really don't know how that's supposed to help me now. Even if I accept that I can't control everything that happens in my life, that... that doesn't help me make sense of this... this disaster!”

“You can't plan out everything. And you can't anticipate or uncover everything in a systematic manner,” Skye muses. “I think that's where we messed up. Jack's led teams before, but never against Rufinius Frisk. When you have a team dynamic there's necessarily going to be bureaucracy and protocol. We always have to keep all the mammals below us in a predictable grid, and there are always mammals above us we have to answer to. It made us inflexible.”

“And Frisk is all about taking advantage of chaos...” I shudder.

“Yep. That's exactly what Rufinius Frisk does,” Skye sighs, shaking her head. “I've been studying the Vulpes Sanguinis' work alongside Jack for years now, and what they do scares the shit out of me. Frisk doesn't just use stealth and subterfuge to get things done like I used to. And his Praetors aren't just master tacticians like Miles. Frisk knows how to drive his pursuers insane. He heaps tragedy after tragedy at your feet to trip you up, and after enough falls you stumble into a pit that's almost impossible to crawl out from.”

I shudder. “Like what happened to Jack.”

Skye tilts her head. “What _did_ happen to him exactly?”

“You don't know?”

“That's actually something the ZIA's kept from me. Which is pretty stupid, honestly. If he's in trouble it's not like I can run out to help save his cottontail ass. Or maybe Seraphine thinks I'd panic when I should be resting,” Skye snorts, “If I were more well-rested I'd be dead.”

“Well, it hasn't been in the news...” I say, dragging it out a bit. I'm not sure I should be telling Skye, but then again if I'm gonna get her help I need to trust her at least this much. “But...”

I tell her everything about that night. His suicide attempt. How he'd completely snapped and nearly killed me. Even the forensic report that Dr. Therona provided... I'd almost puked when I heard about _that_.

_“Your boyfriend is a rapist, a slaver, and a mass murderer._ _**That's** _ _the mammal you chose to take to bed._ _**That's** _ _who you've sided with.”_

I gag at the thought, even now. Nick's semen had been found inside the body of Jack's brother. Nick... Nick, how _could_ you? Was he doing this even while I was sleeping with him? Do I need to get tested? Oh my GOD do I need-

“Wait...” Skye sits back and narrows her eyes at me. “Nick wouldn't do that. I've seen the way he looks at you. He _adores_ you, Hopps. He's so in love with you it drives him nuts. There's no way in hell he'd have sex with anyone else.”

“Yeah...” I say with a bitter laugh and a hiccup. “That's exactly what I thought too. But the DNA-”

“Did your forensics analyst check the DNA phosphate backbone for methylation markers?”

I just stare at her for a moment before I gather myself enough to answer.

“...What?”

“It's something Lenny told me once when he was trying to impress me. Apparently DNA isn't just a string of nucleotides or whatever,” she says slowly, like she's trying to sound out the more technical words in her head. “The backbone of DNA molecules are modified with these things called methyl groups in the cell so the cell can process it properly or something. But with _cloned_ DNA there wouldn't be any methyl groups. He thought it was interesting because this is something every first-year genetics student knows these days. Basic bitch stuff. But no one checks for it, you know? There was a case a few years back, where a biochemist had framed someone for a murder. He took the other mammal's DNA, cloned it, and planted it all over the crime scene.”

I stare at her. “You remembered all that?”

“Foxes have good memories,” she shrugs. “Besides, ever since we took on this case that's kinda been floating at the back of my mind. Rufinius _is_ a geneticist after all. The bastard has a PhD in biochemistry too, so cloning DNA would be easy for him. Plus he would totally have the equipment to do it. According to Lenny a first-year grad student would be able to do it with a little training.”

My legs are feeling shaky, and I need to catch myself before I plop down onto the floor. I'm not sure I have it in me to hope for the best right now, but if what Skye is saying is true...

“That's the one thing you gotta remember about Rufinius Varius Frisk, Hopps. His middle name _literally_ means 'versatile.' The old bastard has a lot of tricks up his sleeve and he knows how to use them to confuse his enemies. Don't always trust your first impressions, _especially_ when they're that blatant.”

Skye lets out a derisive snort then. “Honestly, I really respect you guys at the ZPD, but when you deal with something like the Sanguinis you can't take everything at face value. Have that semen sample sent to a ZIA lab and they'll run some more thorough tests. Really wish we had Lenny around though.”

“Wait...” I say, and the thought hits me like a bolt of lightning out from a clear sky. “Wait, so _that's_ it! It was all a setup to drive Jack to the breaking point, wasn't it? It... it really _is_ just too convenient! Us finding Andy's body, Nick's DNA being inside him! Jack was still reeling from all those Officers and Agents dying on his watch, so Rufinius must've planted that body for us to find to make _sure_ Jack was pushed over the edge! And I bet that ambulance...”

“Ambulance?” Skye asks.

“Well... the ambulance that'd taken Jack to the hospital after he tried to kill himself... it just up and vanished for a while. When it turned up the three paramedics had been killed and Jack was gone. I wanted to help investigate but that was when I was put on mandatory leave. Chief Bogo told me it wasn't my problem anymore.”

We'd have to get it confirmed by the ZIA lab, but if Skye was right the DNA had been planted. Nick had been _framed_. For one thing at least.

But if we'd been wrong about Nick when it came to what happened to that poor rabbit, what else were we wrong about...?

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this point. No wonder the ZIA insisted on keeping things hush-hush all the time. It wasn't just to keep from tipping off their targets. It wasn't just that they were arrogant about doing things _their_ way. The Vulpes Sanguinis threw up so much smoke that everyone was running around blind. If their whole thing was to drive mammals crazy with lies and misinformation, keeping the spread of that misinformation under control was just the ZIA trying to minimize the damage.

“Who were the paramedics? Did they actually work for the ZMS?”

“I'm... not sure...” my mind's racing now. It's all falling into place, so obvious now with a little distance from the madness of that horrible night. It'd all been a setup to drive Jack insane. All so he'd lose his position in the ZIA and get carted off by-

“Dr. Conall!” I gasp. “He's the one who insisted on putting Jack on a psych hold! Do you think he might be in on it?”

“Miles always did say that there was something off about the wolf,” Skye's muzzle wrinkles in distaste. “It wouldn't be the first time the Sanguinis planted a mole.”

It's so hard to believe. Conall had always been so _nice_. So _supporting_. He'd helped me and Nick through so much after the Lone Digger and the Shepsfield incident. Was Jack right when he accused Conall of working for the Sanguinis? Surely he can't be doing so _now_... after Jack escaped Conall had been given a protection detail in case some paranoid rabbit tried to murder him, so the ZIA must be watching him like a hawk.

And Nick... why was he in the Twilight Cathedral? He _did_ save me, but... it was also a huge risk to him. He could've easily been shot and killed by any of the officers. Nick was the only fox we saw in that entire place too, so why did he...

No. No, I need to be realistic here. Even if he was just trying to save me from the explosion that just proves he'd known about the trap. Why _did_ he join the Sanguinis? Did they threaten him? Did they threaten someone he loved?

Did they threaten to hurt _me_?

Just then my phone buzzes in my pocket. I'm too deep in thought to really care about another checkup from Danny or Luke, but out of instinct I pull it out of my pocket and check. I freeze up when I see the message.

 

_I need your help. Meet me at Tundratown tomorrow at 11 pm, I'll provide more specific directions when you reach the Floe Lane stop. ~J_

 

When I look up at Skye again she gives me a knowing smile once she reads the expression on my face.

“When you do see him, give Jack my best.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes: Spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Okay, here's a rundown of what's been happening so far:
> 
> 1\. Rufinius wants Jack, his "Tiger Lily" breed. Problem is, Jack is well-protected by the ZIA-ZPD task force and is also a highly trained Agent. He knows how to defend himself against Praetors. Besides, overt force and an assault on Jack when he's on his home turf isn't the Prince's style.  
> 2\. So Rufinius needs to remove all this protection Jack has so he can be kidnapped or killed. And how does he do this? Engineer crisis after crisis. Leave Jack sleepless and stressed. The friends he has worry about his well-being, but they get picked off one by one. First Skye, then in one fell swoop the other three Agents in his inner circle are taken out through either being injured, trapped, or killed.  
> 3\. All alone now Jack is physically and psychologically vulnerable. He just needs one little push to send him over the edge. And Rufinius had prepared the perfect move in advance to break Jack's mind completely. Rufinius murdered Andy, had his body wrapped up in a neat little package, and then left for the ZIA to discover after the Twilight Cathedral raid turned into a shitshow.  
> 4\. As a finishing touch, Rufinius had Nick's DNA cloned and planted in Andy (AKA Pearl). Knowing Jack's personal vendetta against Nick, this was the extra seasoning added to the mix that would drive Jack insane. The thought that Nick, the mammal who had attacked Skye, who had betrayed the ZPD to the Sanguinis had done that to his long-lost brother... it was just too much.  
> 5\. When Jack attempted to kill himself, this was the perfect chance for Rufinius to have him retrieved by his goons, who were posing as emergency medical personnel in the ambulance.  
> 6\. Luckily, Jack saw through this last deception because he'd been using stims as a prophylactic, and was awake enough to recognize the three mammals as being ones who had been press-ganged into working for the Sanguinis. He killed them all and escaped.
> 
> So that's the summary. At least, what should be apparent to the readers thus far.
> 
> Also, from a scientific perspective this should be fairly accurate. Chemically synthesizing DNA in a test tube would not lead to the same product that you'd get if it came from a living mammal. This is a central issue in biological experiments: there is a fundamental difference between "in vitro" ("in glass") and "in vivo" ("in the living organism"). The methyl group thing is a biological detail that I'm hoping isn't too techno-babbly, but it should be pretty spot on. That's what really happens in the cell. Being a postdoc and a recent grad student Lenny would definitely have known about this, and it's definitely in character for him to want to show how clever he is by blabbing about it to Skye after one too many drinks.
> 
> That being said, I have to admit I'm not being completely honest about some of the details above. All I can say that is 100% truthful however is that yes: The DNA that'd been found in Andy/Pearl? Cloned. Faked. Planted. In every scene involving the two Nick had rebuffed every single one of Pearl's advances and staunchly remained loyal to Judy. So of course the detail with the DNA was fake. TBH I thought that more people would be in denial about this happening, but from some of the comments a lot of people just trusted this on its face. Which I found rather surprising.
> 
> So that aside... what else could have been misleading you dear readers? :O


	40. A Fly in the Honeypot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conall meets with the senior officials of Zootopia, Judy and Jack meet up.

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

The tension in the room is pungent, thick with a sour tang like rotting meat.

“Why exactly is _he_ here?” Agent Elkredge snorts, jabbing a hooved thumb in my direction. “Conall doesn't have the clearance to be in a meeting like this.”

All around me the attendees of this emergency meeting glance in my direction. Chief Bogo's bullet-eyed stare seems to bore into me. Major Lionheart looks up at me with tired resignation... he, like so many others, has been run ragged by the events of the past few days. Only Margot glances at me with cool indifference.

Even with the stink of tobacco smoke masking his mood, it isn't difficult to determine the true reason for Elkredge's anger. I have a long history of working with the ZPD, and sitting alongside Chief Bogo and Mayor Lionheart it would seem that the representatives of the more civilian-oriented faction in this meeting outnumbers the spy faction three to two.

Granted, Elkredge had threatened to reveal my true nature before. Yet I had only complied with giving him Mr. Wilde's file out of convenience. In truth, the fact that I am a psychopath would be enormously difficult to prove. I have been a clinical psychologist for over twenty years, and in that time I have been careful to cultivate a most convincing outward appearance of ethical conduct. With Savage's task force now disbanded and the former inner circle in disarray, such an accusation would seem like an act of petulance more than anything.

“Dr. Conall is here because I gave him the clearance,” says Margot. “He is by far the most skilled psychologist that I know of, and frankly we need his consult on this matter.”

Her scent is complex and crisp, like aged tea mingled with dried jasmine buds. Margot is cool and confident, though beneath her composed demeanor there's a prickly scent, like she's hiding something.

But then again, as the Director of the ZIA, she's always hiding something.

“Your decisions have cost us a lot, Seraphine...” Elkredge grunts. “The body count is up to thirty-two now. It'll take at least a week to dig our teams out. You used us as sacrificial pawns!”

“I had every hope that Savage's team would succeed,” says Margot. I don't need to pick up the sharp scent of her anger, like lemon juice and vinegar, to recognize her mood. “But we were dealing with the Vulpes Sanguinis, Miles. Our traditional methods have _never_ succeeded because we could only ever _react_ to each of the Sanguinis' moves rather than fight them on _our_ terms. We needed a rapid-response unit as a hidden trump card. One that could be deployed at a moment's notice, strike at the Praetors when they're vulnerable and when they least expect it. And I need not remind you that it _worked_.”

“At the cost of thirty-two Razorbacks, ZPD Officers, and ZIA Agents,” Elkredge growls.

“Enough!” Lionheart roars, slamming a clenched paw on his desk. “What happened is regrettable. It truly is. But we need to stop with the recriminations and focus on the task in front of us! The leader of these terrorists is still at large, the citizens are demanding answers, and your top Agent has gone missing! _I need to know what is happening_!”

For a moment everyone is quiet, each one hesitant at being the first to speak. Bogo clears his throat however. He doesn't sound nearly as powerful as he usually does.

“Right... well... all available ZPD units are working overtime patrolling all avenues into and out of the city. I have teams checking every cargo vessel, every shipping container and truck. If any Praetors are trying to pass through our perimeter in either direction, we'll know about it.”

“The vulpine community won't like this at all,” I add, shaking my head. “Foxes have always had a difficult relationship with the police.”

“My Officers are under strict orders to avoid the appearance of profiling. But you're right... it can't be completely avoided.”

“I need every mammal you have available working these security checkpoints,” says Lionheart. “Pull every rookie, every beat cop, and every meter maid you have. No, don't look at me like that, Bogo. I don't care if the rate of petty crimes triples. Commerce is the lifeblood of every city, and as crucial as these security checks are they're causing a severe slowdown in trade.”

“And if there's looting?” Bogo grunts. “Riots?”

“Zootopia has abundant community leaders who would be willing to form neighborhood watch groups,” I muse. “Church leaders, civic volunteers, neighborhood pack Alphas...”

“Fine...” Bogo sighs. “I'll get the Deputy Chiefs on that.”

Lionheart nods. “Now, how is the situation in the Twilight Cathedral?”

“They're using an adjoining room as a makeshift morgue,” Elkredge says, though there's a faint tremor in his voice at that. “And we've got a steady stream of ice being brought in to keep things from becoming unpleasant down there. Food, water, medical supplies are all coming in at a steady pace. Even some portable videogame systems to keep the mammals from getting too stir-crazy.”

“Most of them were just relieved that Hopps was able to get help,” Bogo adds. “But every hour that passes the strain's getting to them a bit more.”

Lionheart sighs. “And as for Wilde's involvement?”

“We still have no clue as to what he was doing down there,” Elkredge grunts. “Best anyone could tell, Wilde was skulking around to save his partner from the bombs.”

Lionheart buries his face in one paw. His scent is of moldy leaves and bitter earth... sorrow and dread. “This can't get out...” he moans. “We can't let the public know about Wilde's involvement. Not yet. A great deal of predators in our community look up to him, _especially_ the more disenfranchised ones.”

“Indeed,” I add. “The optics of this situation are possibly even worse than in the Night Howler debacle.”

“The surviving Agents down there know better than to reveal details about the situation to anyone without the proper clearance,” says Margot, returning to her usual cool tone. “And they're keeping all the other officers in line as well. I can assure you that it won't become public knowledge.”

“He knew about the bombing. He allowed it to happen. But he isn't just complicit in _that_...” Bogo's thick voice is a coarse rumble now. The scent coming from him is an acrid musk with something reminiscent of rancid oil. A mixture of disgust and shame on his part, which is no surprise. Wilde had been one of his star officers, after all. “A few days ago we'd arrested a llama downtown on drug charges in violation of his parole. In exchange for letting him off the hook he'd offered some information about a secret auction he'd worked at as a waiter.”

Margot makes a disgusted sound. “The Sanguinis' slave auctions. They're infamous affairs.”

“Four male and four female bunnies were sold that night,” Bogo sighs. “The llama couldn't identify anyone because they were all masked, but apparently one of the hosts was a young red fox. Somewhere in his twenties or thirties. They'd referred to him as the 'new Frisk heir.'”

Elkredge shakes his head. “I hadn't believed it. Wilde just didn't seem the type.”

“He isn't,” I interject, “Nicholas had never truly been a master criminal. He neither possesses the attitude nor the talent for the acts of which he's being accused.”

“So you're saying he's some sort of pawn, then?” Bogo snorts. “I don't want to believe it either, but whether he's leading the Sanguinis or being coerced into helping _doesn't matter_. He's helped oversee the trafficking of mammals. Thirty-two officers _died_ because of him!”

“I suggest you table your anger, Chief Bogo,” says Margot, leveling a frosty gaze at the buffalo. “And work from what you know for certain, rather than what you are piecing together from an incomplete picture.”

“And I suggest you step down from your position, _Director_ Seraphine. I knew from the _start_ that working with you and that hothead Jack Savage was a bad idea! Your spy agency has turned our City into a warzone!”

“Unfortunately, the public seems to agree with Bogo on the catastrophic nature of recent events. Virgil Wedsley is planning to bring a motion to the floor of the City Council...” Lionheart says morosely. As usual the Mayor's mind is focused on the political implications. “In light of the unprecedented violence of this crime, Wedsley is pushing for a reinstatement of the death penalty. To be applied to any mammals involved with the recent terrorist attack.”

Ah yes. Nothing quite so cathartic like a public execution before the teeming masses.

Margot's eyes widen, which is a remarkable feat. Very few things can surprise her. “You have to veto it, Leodore. We all know how disproportionately predators are affected by capital punishment.”

“ _You_ don't get to lecture the Mayor on civil rights issues,” Bogo snorts.

“Given the public sentiment now, he likely has a two-thirds majority,” Lionheart says, leaning back in his seat. Resignation weighs heavily on his face. “The Council will override me on this. My veto would be purely symbolic. But whatever happens we _cannot_ let Nicholas Wilde be executed. The fox community would be horrified, all the social progress we've been trying to make will be thrown back twenty years.”

“There are always... other options,” Elkredge says carefully.

Bogo looks disgusted. “You mean the ZIA could conduct an extrajudicial killing. You plan on assassinating him to keep his involvement nice and quiet.”

“We are saying nothing of the sort,” Margot huffs. “Leodore, I can assure you the ZIA would not condone-”

“Bullshit!” the Chief bellows, “You're saying the next time your Agents confront him you'll see that he 'goes down' in the firefight that's sure to come, whether he surrenders or not. I will _not_ stand for this! Wilde is one of _my_ officers and I intend to see him prosecuted through the proper channels! Once he is captured he will be put on trial!”

“And how do you plan to do that, Bogo?” Margot says, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you inform your officers to be on the lookout for Wilde and why. I thought we had all agreed that the social implications of outing his status as a Sanguinis wouldn't be worth it. Besides, we have no proof that he was involved in doing any real damage to the City.”

“Agent Skye would disagree with you,” Elkredge says coldly.

“Whether Wilde is innocent or not may not matter,” I add. “Jack Savage is still on the loose. Fortunately or unfortunately, he may be taking this problem out of our paws entirely.”

When the meeting finally ends we part on poor terms all around. Elkredge is exhausted, and though he obviously would want nothing more than to retire he must deal with the overwhelming aftermath of what Agent Savage had left him. Lionheart is resigned to balancing himself between his civic duties and their implications for the election that's to come. Seraphine leaves with an icy hardness inside her. Bogo... I catch up with him as he storms off in a rage.

“Chief Bogo,” I say calmly. My silken tones have been well practiced to soothe even the most choleric of patients, but it is like trying to polish gravel. “Ah, I had been hoping to get a word with you.”

“What is it, Conall?” he grunts. He truly is one of _those_ types. Impatient with therapists because they think we refuse to play on their terms. And to think, we've always had such a cordial working relationship.

“The security detail you've put on me... I'd like for you to assign them elsewhere, please. Having a pair of officers follow me around as I go on with my day is not only unnecessary, it has a detrimental effect on my relationship with my patients. They find their presence unnerving.”

“Your patients are fellow Officers to the ones guarding you,” says Bogo impatiently as we head towards the elevators.

Sure enough the two who had been waiting outside the Mayor's office peel themselves from the wall they'd been leaning against and catch up beside me. A tiger and a hippo.

While I do not mind company now and again, I am very much a lone wolf who values his solitude. Yet now I must welcome two officers into my home every night, shower and sleep with the doors open and with them in the next room. I can barely focus on my patient files when I am having lunch either.

Not to mention anything about my other obligations.

“True,” I nod, “but nonetheless a security detail implies that it is dangerous to be around me.”

“And you think it isn't?” Bogo lets out a rumbling grunt that comes from deep within his chest. An impressive noise that only a buffalo could make. At this time of night no one else is here in City Hall, so Bogo is far from shy when it comes to letting loose with his infamous temper. “Jack Savage believed you to be secretly working for the Vulpes Sanguinis. You should feel lucky I let you interact with any patients _at all_.”

“Yes. Absurd accusations, truly.”

“Are they?” Bogo glares at me over his shoulder. “As much as I dislike Elkredge, I'd say he has reason to distrust you. The night you tried to have Agent Savage placed on a psych hold was the same night we learned that the ambulance taking him to the hospital had been stolen and staffed by three ex-cons believed to be working for the Sanguinis. Tell me that _isn't_ a coincidence.”

“Of course it wasn't. You saw from the phone record analysis that the 911 call I placed was rerouted elsewhere. We already know the Sanguinis has a talented hacker in their employ from what happened to the ZIA's surveillance drones.”

“You're on thin ice, Conall,” Bogo sneers. “The only reason I'm letting you anywhere near my Officers _at all_ is because Seraphine convinced the Mayor that it would be best for them to be treated by you. And regardless of your innocence, you _will_ need a protection detail. I refuse to let you get kidnapped or killed by Jack Savage just because he thinks you're working with the foxes.”

I sigh. I suppose I must relent on this. “Chief Bogo, I'm not saying it's unreasonable. But how long have we known each other? Surely you can see that a protection detail is unnecessary when I'm working within the ZPD itself? Elkredge's security measures are still in place.”

Bogo eyes me carefully. “Very well. But you had better remember that I plan on keeping a close eye on you and your associates.”

“Without a doubt,” I give a resigned smile. “Thank you very much for your consideration.”

It would be best not to look too pleased. Just this much leeway would be enough. Fortunate too that I am unburdened by a conscience... otherwise I might feel bad about what I must do.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Funny thing about Zootopia: it's only on the tail end of the calendar year that you get comfortable visiting Tundratown.

Sure it's a little bit colder late in mid-autumn, but it's getting chilly in most of the other districts too. And that means I can wear my winter coat as I head out instead of having to choose between lugging the thing in my arm (and hence risk forgetting it at the subway) or sweltering under it to and from my apartment. Plus with everyone else dressed for cold weather, no one can tell where I'm headed at a glance.

I'd made sure to check in with Mom and Dad before I headed out. Dad was terrified out of his mind of course, what with word of the terrorist attack. Mom as usual had been hiding the real details from him... I think she's the only one in the family who knew that I'd actually been _inside_ the Twilight Cathedral when the explosions went off. Everyone else was just scrambling asking if I was okay.

Normally I would've been happy to talk to each of my littermates in turn as they passed the phone to one another, and say hi to the younger kits who wanted to know how things were going in the City. But the longer the call went on the more anxious I was getting.

I was never like this before. The City... the job... heck, the _task force_ had changed me.

I can't just go with the flow like I used to on the farm, where despite all the things that needed to be done there was such a regular pace to my life. Now my days are divided into slices and my time rationed like I'm a hungry mammal living off of a crust of bread. And even though my social circles are smaller they aren't nearly as tightly knit as they used to be. The diversity in the City makes everything so exciting and new, but everyone is living on their own wavelength. It takes energy and careful thought to resonate with each one.

I don't know how to talk to my family about what my life is like now. I can't even begin to explain all the horrible things I've seen. If I went back to Bunnyburrow now I'd sit down at the dinner table to a roasted carrot casserole and a hundred round faces would be looking at me when Mom or Dad or Cory or Stacey or Dixie or Clover or Buster would ask “How's life in Zootopia?” and I would have to bite my lip and smile, because I just _know_ that the first thing to come to mind would be sight of the bodies, the smell of smoke, and having to stumble over all the rubble and...

And then before I could choke out as G-rated an answer as possible one of the younger bunnies would pipe up, bouncing in her little pink skirt and, not knowing any better, ask:

“Where's Nick?”

No. Keep it together, Hopps. Just breathe. You're a police officer, damn it.

Zootopia's a pretty safe place to be overall, even this late at night. In the morning the workers will clear the streets, but for now my feet crunch over an inch of fresh snowfall. For a moment I watch as my breath curls in front of me in a white mist... that's always relaxing.

And then my phone buzzes. I glance down at the text.

 

_Meet me at Alexei's Diner._

 

Of course it'd be Alexei's.

I still remember my first time here. It'd been when me and Nick first started dating. The two of us were giddy and nervous, still trying to feel each other out. Not that it'd been hard, really... the two of us always had a natural chemistry ever since the Night Howler case. But to move into an _actual_ relationship... that'd been a little scary. Thrilling, but scary.

It'd been the first time I'd had borscht. Nick ordered the fish and chips, with a side of popcorn shrimp. “Bugs of the sea,” he'd called 'em. He knew I'd tried bug meat before, but shrimp was something altogether different. Still, I'd sampled a piece when he pressed. Tentatively. The fact that it was covered in batter and deep fried and that it looked like it could've been anything made it a lot easier.

And of course like so many things he recommended it was _fantastic_ once I got used to the texture. It seems like such a little thing now, but the fact that we were comfortably eating off of each others' plates was something so casually romantic. Like, it's the sort of thing you see in romantic comedies, a sign that they're a real couple.

And the look he gave me, seeing this bunny developing a taste for meat and with a mouth stained red with beetroot juice... gosh, the _look_ on his face!

Despite my troubles, I smile at the memory.

I'm about to head to the front door, when I get another message.

 

_Back alley._

 

Great. And here I was hoping to warm myself up with some cider at the bar.

The back alley is thick with snow, though a broad path had been made down its length, pushed aside and trampled by larger mammals. The restaurant workers most likely, routinely dragging the garbage out to the dumpster. The flattened slush had frozen over again into a thick layer of uneven ice, and I need to watch my step to keep from slipping. It's cold through the pads of my feet, but thankfully dry enough that it won't be soaking through the fur between my toes.

There, standing at the other end of the alley, is Jack.

I'd expected him hooded and hiding in the shadows like a real ZIA spook, but on the contrary he's just wearing a plain brown toggle coat. The dark stripes along his cheeks are gone... carefully groomed and dusted white so that he looks like snowshoe hare. The little patch on the side of his head hadn't grown back yet however, and there's a bit of naked pink between the pale tufts.

I need to lean in and squint to make sure it's him... without those busy stripes of his he's hard to recognize even from six feet away.

It's Jack for sure, though. No one has eyes like that... ice-blue like a cold winter sky.

“Jack...” I say in a low murmur.

“Keep your paws when I can see them.”

There's nothing brusque about his tone, though there should've been. Instead he sounds oddly flat when he speaks. Casual, even. There's something so firm and confident in him that, even without the hint of a threat, makes him seem dangerous.

Sure enough my paw had drifted to my side the moment I saw him, placed on the tranq gun I'd brought with me.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Judy...” Jack sighs, taking his paws out of his pockets and holding them in the air. “So I'd really appreciate it if you didn't plug me.”

“They say you're unstable, Jack. Dangerous.”

“They're right,” he smiles. “But I'm also the only one who can get the job done. With your help, I'm hoping.”

“You need to come with me, Jack. Peacefully.” Despite his warning I whip out the dart gun and point it straight at him. “Please. I don't want to have to shoot you.”

“And I don't want to see you hurt, either. But, well... Kaplan?”

A hulking figure rounds the corner then. Thick curls of steam puff from Benjy's nostrils. He's wearing a thick gray hoodie and a green scarf, and the hood pulled over his head casts his face in a grim shadow. If I thought Jack's eyes were cold, Benjy's baby blues were downright _glacial_.

I'd seen him shirtless on the nights I'd stayed over at his apartment. I know all too well how thick those muscles are beneath the cloth. There's none of the dedicated, reliable cop I'd known from our patrols together. None of that boisterous tiger in his off-hours whose laugh could shake the room. Though he doesn't make any threatening moves, each step towards me is intimidating enough. It's like seeing a mountain move.

“Put down the tranq gun, Judy,” Benjy says in his bass rumble. “We're friends, and you know that dosage won't work on me.”

He's right. I'd only loaded the tranq with rounds rated to take down a bunny. Even if I unloaded my full clip into Benjy it'd just slow him down at best.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, lowering my sidearm. “Why are you working with Jack?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Benjy growls. “The Sanguinis killed our fellow Officers, Judy. They almost killed my _brother!_ ”

“As of now there are very few mammals I can trust,” Jack says. It really is _weird_ to hear his voice coming from someone with all-white fur. “Given what happened to Danny Kaplan I know for sure that Benjy here is on the level. And you... well. I had to think about it a bit. But given your background I know I can trust you. Especially when I found _these_.”

He pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it in my direction. A small evidence bag. It lands on the ice with a light thump.

Picking it up I look at the contents. I'm not familiar with this tech: the small bundle of twisted wires, the little knob at the end with what looked like a...

“I broke into you apartment while you were out yesterday, Judy,” Jack says calmly. “Searched it high and low. What you're holding right now is a small surveillance camera I found. The Vulpes Sanguinis planted it in your bedroom. It could've been there for weeks. Months, even.”

“Oh my god...” I whisper. “They... they've been watching me. As I slept. Whenever I undressed. When me and Nick...”

I clap a paw over my mouth and double over. My stomach's clenching involuntarily, and it feels as if my blood's turned to ice.

It'd become a bit of a joke, how popular I'd gotten. “Julie Hopper Takes In the Wolfpack.” “Julie Hopper Trapped in the Foxes' Den.” Though it'd been mortifying to hear about it, I'd done my best to roll with it. Take it all in stride. I'd even watched a couple videos with Nick, and over time I'd kinda come to accept it as something that was gross but also kinda inevitable.

But _this_... they'd actually been _watching_ me. How many of the Sanguinis have seen my most vulnerable moments? My vision's getting blurry. I'm breathing so quickly that my throat is starting to feel like it's being sliced up by the cold air.

“Judy...” Jack says moving close to me. His voice is sweet and sympathetic, so completely different from the crazed rabbit I'd seen just several nights ago. “Judy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like this. But you deserved to know.”

Slowly Jack wraps his arms around me, cupping the back of my head and holding my face in the crook of his neck. He smells crisp, like mountain air or the first days of spring. His fur is warm though, and his paws are gentle. For a long while he holds me like that. Just one bunny comforting another.

His breath is warm and humid as it tickles my cheek.

“I also found traces of black fox fur under your bed,” he says quietly. “I'm guessing they belonged to Mr. Smythe, the Sanguinis' best sneak and assassin.”

I'm just so glad Jack's here with his arms around me shielding me from the cold as another shudder runs through me. If it weren't for him I'm not sure I'd be able to stand up on my own right now. The thought of someone hiding under my bed... when did _this_ happen? Oh please not while I'd slept, please...

“J-Jack...” I sniff, “Jack, I- I visited Skye. Just yesterday. She... she told me about Andy.”

“She did, did she?” he says, though Jack doesn't make the slightest twitch upon hearing his name.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what happened, but you need to know something. She was able to get the ZIA lab to rush process the semen sample Dr. Therona retrieved. They tested it for... for some chemical groups or something. It isn't Nick's DNA, Jack. It was just cloned stuff that was cooked up in a lab and planted to make it _look_ like... like he did _that_ to your brother.”

“It doesn't matter...” Jack whispers. “Nick Wilde is one of them now. He's a Frisk.”

“But what if we have it all wrong?” I ask, pulling away from him just enough so I can look him in the eye. His expression is flat. Emotionless. Like all the happiness had been burned out of him and he's just this shell staring back at me filled with weary purpose. “If something so fundamental as DNA evidence could be tampered with, couldn't we be wrong about other things?”

“Like what, Judy?” Jack murmurs. “Could Skye have been mistaken when Nick beat her with a pipe and threw her from a ledge? Could you and a dozen other mammals have been mistaken when he grabbed you in the Twilight Cathedral?”

“He... he wanted to save my life...” I stutter, but I know all too well how thin of an excuse that is.

“Yes. And he let dozens of other mammals lose theirs. He may still love you Judy. And I know you still love him. But Nicholas Wilde... no. Nicholas Piberius _Frisk_ now. Whatever his intentions, he's violated his oath to the badge. Is his love worth letting so many of your fellow officers die?”

Jack squeezes me tight, and he strokes the back of my head as he talks. His eyes meet mine, and the icy chips in his sky-blue pupils seem to thaw into pity.

“He's violated your trust. He's tried to murder Skye, and now he's complicit in the slaughter of dozens mammals. And from what Kaplan tells me... he's also complicit in the sale of at least eight bunny slaves.”

My vision's going blurry. My nails dig into his back. Jack tenses slightly, but he doesn't pull away or wince in the slightest.

“Wh-what?”

“It's true, Judy,” Benjy says carefully. “I just heard about it from Clawhauser when I went by the precinct today. We have a witness who says he was at an underground slave auction. Says he saw a young red fox who was introduced as the new Frisk heir, shaking paws and schmoozing with all the mammals who were there to buy new bunnies play with. And at the time he was paw-in-paw with...”

Benjy pauses for a moment and glances down at Jack. “With... Jack's brother.”

Jack flinches, and he closes his eyes for a moment. The only sign of the pain he's feeling now is a faint twitch of his nose.

“Kaplan, could you please give us some space? Just take a little walk and I'll text you.”

Benjy nods, and circles back around the corner.

When Jack looks at me again he sighs, shaking his head. “The Sanguinis slave auctions... they call it the Carnivale. Hundreds have been sold over the years. Frisk gathers dozens of the wealthiest mammals in a city and invites them to a masquerade, where the items on the block are his prize bunnies. And for those who don't make a purchase... they get to enjoy the hospitality of his harem for a price.”

“But... but-” I swallow, “But Nick could be...”

I know how lame it sounds. And Jack knows that I know.

“I came to you Judy because I know I can trust you. Before anything else you're a good cop, and you're willing to do the right thing no matter how hard it is,” Jack looks at me sadly. “Nick Wilde is at the center of all this. Normal police work, adherence to protocol and procedure... they won't work when it comes to what we need to do.”

“You're... going to _kill_ him...” I sniffle.

And I see him again, his fur glowing like fire in the sun as he turned around to face me with that gentle smile and the carrot pen in his paw. The way he'd puffed his chest out with pride, saluting me at his graduation ceremony when I pinned the badge to his chest. Me and Nick laughing at the way other mammals looked at us when we would go down the streets holding paws, bold as brass and not caring about anyone's stupid judgments.

“The Nick Wilde you knew died the moment the Sanguinis got its claws into him, Judy. I've seen it before, they way they twist you up inside. Shape them into the tools they need. The Nick you knew... if there's any part of that fox left in him... he'll consider it a relief.”

There was Nick sobbing in my bathtub from the regret over the years he'd thought he'd lost with his son and the shame he felt at not being able to have children with me. The way Nick had looked when I helped him with his tie, the only mammal to have ever done so after his father's death. Nick cupping my face when we made love, and his eyes were so bright and green in the dim light of my bedroom.

The bedroom where the Sanguinis had been watching us.

And then I remember the last few months, when his depression had worsened. When he would hesitate when I tried to pull him into the sheets with me. The odd way he acted on the rare nights he _did_ come over: distracted, maybe even _wary_ , like he _knew_ we were being watched.

He _knew_.

And then I see those green eyes of his, haunted and framed in a grim and unsmiling face in the darkness of the Twilight Cathedral. Just that one terrifying glance before he lunged at me, so quick that I barely recognized him. I can almost see him scurrying away, not sparing a second thought for our friends as they died from the rubble or the sniper fire or the drugged-up mammals set loose on Savage's team.

And then there's the Nick that he was becoming. The bright laughter in those emerald eyes are snuffed out, his playful smirk is filled with fangs: cold and humorless and cruel. There's Nick in a fine tuxedo as he sold bunnies just like me on the auction block. Just pets to him. Things to be _owned_ , to be _used_...

“ _Poor Judy_...” Bellwether had said to me the day I'd interviewed her. It seems like it was years ago now. She'd seemed so genuinely sad for me. Like she'd known. “ _You really don't know him at all, do you?_ ”

“ _I know him well enough_ ,” I'd told her then.

“ _No. No you don't, Judy. I hear a lot of things in here, get a lot of news that no one would dare leak to the outside_ ,” she'd adjusted her glasses then, the way she did when she was getting serious. All the smiles and bubbly sweetness were gone. “ _And I've learned that Nick Wilde is dangerous. More dangerous than you can ever know. Please believe me when I say I'm just trying to look out for you, Judy. If you stay with him, then one of these days he_ _ **will**_ _hurt you. And worse._ ”

This was why she'd been shanked in prison, wasn't it? This was why she'd tried to be so helpful when I interviewed her about Doug. Dawn Bellwether had known about Nick being aligned with the Vulpes Sanguinis, and she'd been afraid for her life when she realized she'd assaulted the son of a mobster in the Natural History Museum. She wasn't crazy. She _knew_ the Sanguinis would want their revenge for attacking one of their own...

_Nick Wilde is dangerous. More dangerous than you can ever know._

I don't even realize I'm the one making those choking sounds, or that the tears spilling from my cheeks are mine.

_If you stay with him, then one of these days he_ _**will** _ _hurt you. And worse._

“Shhh... it's all right, Judy...” Jack says, moving his paw down and kissing the side of my cheek. It's strange, feeling the kiss of another bunny again. There isn't the long muzzle or the sharp teeth. The paws holding me are smaller, fitting into my body just right.

It's warm and familiar, with his soft round face pressing into mine. And something more to it too, sensual... like Savage and me are on the same physical rhythm. It's so easy to slip into the same beat as him. There's no work to it. No focus. No pondering about how he might react to the slightest turn of phrase or odd gesture.

“It's all right...” he's stroking my back with one paw now, the other cradling my head. The confusion and terror and hurt are fading with each touch. The touches that bunnies share for comfort. More than that actually, because it's so _cold_ out here, but his body is so _warm_.

“It was inevitable, Judy...” he murmurs as he breathes in my scent. “He's a Frisk. It's always been in his blood... coded in his DNA...”

My body stiffens. It feels like a bolt of lightning had crackled down my spine.

_It... may have something to do with biology. A... biological component, y'know... something in their DNA..._

The press conference comes back to me all of a sudden. There'd been so much confusion over the Night Howler conspiracy that was still going on, and I'd gone up on that podium and stumbled through a speech that I'll regret to my dying day. Back then I'd considered him my friend, but deep down part of me still didn't trust him. Part of me was still scared of him, and because of that I'd almost lost not only Nick but Zootopia had suffered as well.

The anger and pain in Nick's eyes had been branded in my memory, that I hadn't trusted him.

“No...” I push Jack away from me, “No, stop. Stop this, Jack!”

He's still holding my paws though, and he's looking at me in confusion. “Judy? What's...”

I'm not cold anymore. I'm shaking in a white-hot fury. Back then I'd been a pawn in Bellwether's schemes. She'd gotten me to go up on that podium all to help push her vile agenda, and now Jack's here trying to make me into his pawn as well. To seduce me into helping him kill the first mammal I'd ever really _loved_. The first mammal where our trust had been forged in _fire_.

And I remember the shame Nick felt sitting on that hospital bed after Jared Shepsfield nearly killed him, never believing I would forgive him. The relief from when he finally opened up that first day back on the force, when we walked to the train station together from his place in the Rainforest District.

“ _Judy... I wanna tell you about my dad_ ,” he'd said with a smile.

I hadn't known how beautiful it was, that smile. It was the first time in his adult life that he'd been truly happy, when he'd unshouldered all the pain and regret and self-loathing that'd build up over the years. It wasn't a grin to hide his misery. Or a smirk to fit in with the mammals around him. He was finally able to _really_ let himself feel peace.

“No, you're wrong. Jack, you're _wrong_!”

“Judy, be reasonable...” he says, his tone hardening. His grip on my wrist tightens ever so slightly.

I yank my paw out of his and, balling it up into a fist, punch him square in the jaw.

For someone who's supposed to have a lot of paw-to-paw combat experience, that blow really catches him off guard. Jack goes flying, and he lands in a pile of snow that'd built up against the opposite wall with a light _piff_ sound with his feet sticking up in the air. For a moment he's just stuck there like he's stunned, but with a little kicking and struggling he works himself free and tumbles back down to the icy ground.

For a moment he works his jaw like he's trying to see if I'd dislocated it. He probes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, like he's mulling over the taste of his own blood.

“Y'know... I can't say I haven't been hit by a woman before. But usually they just slap me across the face.”

“Then they don't know you well enough,” I huff. My body is trembling, and I'm not sure if I'm more furious with Jack for trying to honeypot me or me for believing in his crap for one _second_. Trying to make me vulnerable and butter me up the way he would seduce some stupid broad in a spy movie... the... _nerve!_ _NNNGH!_

I'm so completely pissed off. I swear, if he ever _tries_ to touch me again...

“Why are you protecting him, Judy?” he says, back to his calm, detached Secret Agent self. “You have to know by now that he doesn't deserve it.”

“You'll call me _Officer_ Hopps, _Agent_ Savage,” I storm over to him and stab a finger into his chest. “The fact is you've lost perspective. Skye told me all about how the Sanguinis works by sowing chaos, breaking down trust within agencies, confusing the hell out of their pursuers. We don't know _nearly_ enough about the situation. So why are you so hell-bent on killing Nick?”

Jack gives me a sideways glance as he rubs his chin. “I've been studying the Vulpes Sanguinis for far longer than anyone else has, J... Hopps. Far longer than you, certainly.”

“That's not an answer.”

“That's the only one I can give.”

“I think you've gotten lost in your tunnel vision, Jack. And look where it's gotten you.”

“You're smarter than this, Hopps,” Jack says, standing up and brushing the snow from his coat. “You can't possibly believe Wilde is innocent. After all he's done he doesn't deserve your trust.”

“No, he deserves equal treatment under the _law_ , just like any other perp. It's not my place to judge his innocence or guilt as an Officer. My job is to get the suspect and bring him in, and the _courts_ will decide what to do. _Not_ you,” I cross my arms firmly. “So _there_. If you want my help, you'll have to agree we'll be taking in Nick Wilde. _**Alive**_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Notes: spoilers ahead!)
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the scene here involving Zootopia's five bigshots discussing the current situation. I think one of the best parts of writing animals, especially Doc Conall, is using scent as another dimension of describing the setting. Being able to describe emotions in terms of aroma offers a whole 'nother creative element that I really like exploring.
> 
> I also mention Virgin Wedsley again here: you might remember him as the caribou who was in the background of some news reports. He's very critical of the Lionheart regime and what he calls "predator-oriented thinking" in general when it comes to governance. Check out Chapters 24 and 32 if you need a refresher. And yes, discussions of the Death Penalty in Zootopia were in my draft notes long before the discussion in the comments section of the last chapter. I try to anticipate reader concerns long before they're actually voiced. Important to anticipate logical conclusions if I want to avoid plot holes.
> 
> Judy's "voice" is getting easier and easier for me to write. I imagine a lot of long-running stream-of-consciousness sentences with the way she would jabber on thanks to her bouncy bunny energy. Those get kinda fun when I get into the right frame of mind and the words just flow nice and smoothly onto the page.
> 
> This chapter was another one I was eager to get to writing. Judy's confontation with Jack, where he tries to do the Secret Agent thing and try to seduce her again. Jack really deserved that punch in the face, and it's something I felt would be so much more in character for Judy who's way more of a tomboy.
> 
> Also, little callback to the scene in "It's A Fox Thing." Where Judy went to talk to Bellwether in her cell. Yeah, the whole mob boss plotline has been something I've been planning since that far back and it was satisfying to reference what Bellwether said again here.


	41. Long-Awaited Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo has a chat, Jack has a chat, Rufinius has a chat. Everyone has some talking to do.

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

It's so dry here in Tundratown. Especially for a cat from the Rainforest District. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to work in some more saliva. My palate feels numb and leathery. It's like the air itself is parched for moisture, and with each breath it's drinking me dry from my sinuses to the inside of my mouth.

All the storefronts had been abandoned during the attack on Catsro Square and the bombing of the Twilight Cathedral. In the confusion I'd been able to steal a change of clothes: a hooded winter jacket, a dull gray scarf. It wasn't like I had a plan or anything, but turns out it'd been a good move. The heavy clothes help hide my features. That, and a mixture of black pleather polish and soot I'd rubbed into my scars so they wouldn't stand out against my fur.

Problem is the cold weather makes you hungrier, and I'm too scared of getting caught to try begging for change on the streets. Which means it's dumpster diving for me.

The leftovers from other mammals' meals doesn't go bad nearly as quick as they would if the climate were warmer like in Sahara Square, but the scraps I've been able to scrounge up sit like an icy lump in my stomach. I feel like a roach, scuttling out from my hiding place at night and eating the detritus of civilization. It won't be long until my clothes get rank either. I'm gonna waste away like this. I'd be shabby and unrecognizable but safe, because no one would look at some scrawny cat and see the jock Milo Cinzento anymore... just give it a few years.

If I can avoid the Praetors that long.

I wonder what my old classmates think of me now. Or do they even think of me at all? Milo, who had it all going for him... one of the big three players on the team, going to college, catching the eye of every other girl after the last big game. Now he's a murderer. A druggie. Some stupid punk who couldn't even die gracefully alongside everyone else in the attack in Catsro Square. All I can hope for now is that they forget I ever existed, that my name and my face just fade into the past as they go on with their beautiful lives of college degrees and marriages and having kits and careers and futures.

Me, I've just slipped in between the cracks of civilization, and here I'll be hiding in plain sight. I'll bow my head, pretend I don't see them as they pretend they don't see me. Maybe they'll toss a couple quarters my way in appreciation for us mutually ignoring each other.

Though again, that kinda assumes the Sanguinis doesn't find me and treat me as a loose end that needs to be fixed.

It doesn't take much imagination to figure out what the Prince would do to me. After all, I know the location of the Sanguinis' new safehouse. And sometimes he would go over his plans with Dr. Allister or Mr. Dusk while me and Ollie pleasured him.

Ollie... the way he'd looked back at me in confusion, just as the bullet tore through his skull. My name had been the last thing out of his muzzle. It still rings in my ears, even more than the sound of the gunshot.

“ _Milo?_ ”

It wasn't like I loved him or anything. And every night I'd have to just grit my teeth and bear it when he entered me. But as frightened as I was being around him he did protect me in a lot of ways.

I shake off the memory of him. No, the thing I have to fear now is getting caught.

There's nothing more I'd love to do than run. Just get away from here as far as I can. Away from the ZPD and ZIA who want to throw me in jail again where I'll probably get worked over by mammals even worse than Oliver. Or caught by the Prince who'll have my balls cut off just to start.

Then the Prince will send me to Mr. Dusk for sure. He'll strap me to that table of his and line up his knives and needles and probes all in neat little rows. He'll promise he'll be gentle with me, but then he'll get to work. And I'll be screaming and begging and telling him the truth again and again, that I'd said _nothing_ about the Sanguinis. He'll take me apart piece by piece, all the while staring down at me with that chalk-white face of his. The only color on him will be his laughing blue eyes and his blood-red gums when he smiles like his namesake.

But I can't run. One of the star football players on our old team, and I can't do what I do best. The ZPD has locked the City down... no one can enter or leave without passing a security check. It's not as if my disguise would fool anyone who'd look me square in the-

And that's when I see her.

My jaw drops as she trots right past me, glancing down at her phone now and again to get her bearings. Holy _shit_ , was that Judy Hopps? She's wearing a thick winter coat, and hear ears are covered with a wool cap, but I've jerked it enough times to Julie Hopper getting stuffed with a dozen cocks to recognize her doppelganger. Of course, that was before the Lone Digger.

I stare at her over my shoulder, stunned by the tangle of emotions coursing through me. It feels like a nest of ants are burrowing under my skin, this hot prickle that stirs something primal inside me. Part of me wants to strangle her... pop that cute little head off of her shoulders. It was partly her fault that me and Ollie had been thrown in prison and gone through this whole shitshow, after all.

But another idea comes to mind, and my heart skips a beat at the thought of grabbing her right here, right now. Maybe if I turned her in to the Prince he'd forgive me. Maybe he'd even let me go free. She was Nicholas Frisk's main girl, right? No, that wouldn't matter to the Prince. She'd been on the task force, she'd played a major role in fucking up his plans. No, the Prince would probably have her strung up and run a train of Praetors through her bunny cunt until she breaks.

I remember all too well how she'd slammed into my face at the Lone Digger. Almost broke my jaw with that double-footed kick of hers. There's a part of me, a _small_ part, that wanted to see her broken. Watch her get pounded until she bleeds, worked over day and night until she no longer has the strength to scream.

I take a step in Hopps' direction at the thought of following her. Yeah... I'd just clap my paw over her mouth and just squeeze her tight until she passes out. She's just a little rabbit after all...

But then I hesitate, and the panic starts to grip me again. Holy _shit_ what was I thinking? Was I _seriously_ thinking about kidnapping someone? Before I had my first taste of Blue, I'd _never_ have dark thoughts like this. Was it some aftereffect that hadn't cleared my system? All those weeks trying to burn my brain out with poppers and booze? Or just the guilt and shame and trauma I'd survived up until now?

That upwelling of vengeful, perverse fury deflates as quickly as it'd come, and all that's left over is shame. The urge to follow her is still prickling at me, this time with the thought of apologizing. Groveling a little and begging her for help. Could she help me get immunity from prosecution if I testified? Maybe have me sent to some sort of rehab facility instead of doing hard time in prison?

But then I think of the knives, the salty and metallic scent of my own blood, the pearl-white smile and red gums framed in a face as white as death.

The momentary lapse gives her just enough time to round the corner. I've lost my chance.

I scrub my nose and wipe the corner of my eye. All of a sudden the air in the district doesn't feel so dry anymore.

Turning, I lope back to the run-down neighborhood with my tail between my legs.

Tundratown is blanketed in snow most of the year. Only during the summer does the district see a thaw, and then only for a couple of months. I mean, the snow can't just pile up all over the place forever. Plus it gives the climate barrier some downtime for maintenance work. Because of all the drainage that needs to take place they say that Tundratown has an even more extensive sewer system than the Rainforest.

It's only during the summer that you get to see the naked skin of the district. The snow blanketing all the buildings, useful insulation during the winter, melts away. And that's when the tile underneath is revealed, all in muted pastel blues and greens and whites. The buildings would shine like multicolored ice. Mom and Dad had taken me here for one of the Thaw Festivals when I was eight. Gorged myself silly on barbecued salmon and went home with a muzzle sticky with cotton candy.

The more I have to hide in the corners of the City and mull over this stuff, the more I realize that man, I really could've studied architecture in college.

By the time I reach the derelict apartment building the tears have frozen on my cheeks.

It's the most secluded shithole I can find: boarded up, graffiti-stained, and so cold at this time of year that even the roaches have abandoned the place. It'd been a drug den in the past, judging from the discarded needles and soiled mattresses. Luckily someone had left some smelly moth-eaten blankets, and they keep me warm enough at night.

 _I'll have to find some way to get money_ , I ponder as I head up the stairs. The rotting steps groan beneath my weight, and the smell of mildew is muted with the cold.

At one point the thought of earning my keep on all fours had been unthinkable: so beyond my ken that I wouldn't have even considered it a joke. Now though it just seems inevitable. Besides, between Ollie and the Prince I'd gotten plenty of experience in the act itself. It's the only thing I'm any good at by this point.

The big problem is how the hell do I even _start_. Am I supposed to linger on a corner beneath a lonely streetlamp, hoping I'll get picked up by some horny old businessman? Not likely. I need to keep my hooded jacket and scarf to keep up my disguise, so if I did that I'd just look like some drifter at best. I still have my cell with me, and I've heard about those hookup apps for gay dudes. Some of them have gotta be on the clock.

And this whole line of thought just leads me to the conclusion that I completely suck. One of the top cats on the football team, and I might as well have been a complete cherry with how nervous I was mounting the cheerleaders after a game. It's coming on to three months working for the most feared mobsters in Zootopia, getting fucked one end or the other almost daily. All this gay shit and all my experience as a hardened criminal and I'm still too fucking stupid to figure out how to whore myself out.

I step into the dark little room, eager to wrap myself in that stinking old comforter and lie on that mattress that still smells not-so-faintly of piss, when all of a sudden the door slams behind me. I don't even have time to turn around before I feel a gun pressing into the middle of my back.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Cinzento.”

I freeze up when the Praetor speaks. The voice is flat and weary, like he's done this a hundred times before. The air is no longer cold in my lungs... there's this hot _weight_ to it, and the pressure inside me is growing... it takes a moment to realize that I'm so terrified it's like I'd forgotten to breathe.

My mind races, searching for an answer. How did they find me? How could they have-

And then it hits me. My cellphone. They'd tracked my location on my cellphone. All those times my parents complained that I was too addicted to the thing, and I hadn't listened. Now I'm going to die for it. Oh fuck how could I have been so _stupid_!

“ _P-please..._ ”

The word comes out in a hot little squeak. I'm holding my paws in the air. The room is spinning- I'm on the verge of passing out.

“Get down on your knees,” he says in that same flat monotone.

“I- I'm sorry I ran away...” I whimper. For such a simple order it's really hard to follow with my legs trembling like this. Inch by quivering inch I lower myself to the floor. “I'll- I'll come back. Please, let me come back!”

“It's to late for that.”

“I didn't tell anyone anything! Please, I just wanted to get out... I just- I just wanted to disappear!”

“We both know your life was over long before you had the misfortune of getting caught, Milo.”

“I- I can please you... m-make you f-feel good?” I beg. My tongue feels so thick and clumsy, and I'm quivering in desperation. I can barely see the room now with the tears filling my eyes and flooding down the sides of my muzzle. My paws twitch with the urge to hook my fingers into my pants and pull them down for him. “I'm p-pretty good at it...”

At least, the Prince hadn't complained. And Ollie always enjoyed taking me to bed. I lift my tail as I hunker down on my paws and knees. Just moments ago I'd been desperate to do this for money... why am I so nervous now that I'm willing to be a Praetor's whore in exchange for my life?

“P-please, Mr. Frisk... please, I...”

“Is there anything you would like to say? Or a moment to prepare yourself?”

So many things I'd like to say. So many new ways to beg come to mind, and knowing every attempt is useless they all die on my lips.

And then it hits me. Hopps. Judy Hopps. She's all alone and unprotected, just a few blocks away. I could tell him where to find her. Hell, I'd even help drag her straight to the new safehouse for the Prince to use. That'd be a prize, wouldn't it? I mean, Nicholas Frisk would be grateful _for sure_ , he'd definitely help a cat out.

 _They'll break her_... I think to myself. _They'll break her just like they've broken me_...

No. No, damn it! God _fucking_ damn it, Milo. Will you for _once_ in your miserable little life stop being such a fucking turd?! You were a shithead of a son, a dickwad of a student, and you were a pathetic excuse for a mob goon. The least you could do is die like a goddamn mammal!

Strawberry sherbet...

I can hear the whiz of the blender as it pulverizes the frozen fruit, smell that sweet floral aroma of elderflower syrup. There's the whir of the ice cream maker and my mom's smile as I looked up to her. The summer light floods through the window, lighting up her smile and the little summer gnats dancing in the air.

My breathing steadies. The pressure in my chest begins to recede. My heartbeat's still a rapid flutter, but it's no longer pounding in my ears.

“D-don't let them find my body...” I whisper, closing my eyes. “P-please... let my mom think I got away. Let her think I'm still alive. You'll do that... right, Mr. Frisk? Just let her think I'm still out there and I'm still okay?”

I feel the press of a cold metal against the back of my head.

“M-mom...” I choke out a sob. “Mom, I-I... love you...”

How had it been for Ollie, I wonder? Will I see him again? Him and Cal? Or maybe I'd have to answer to all those mammals I've helped kill. That sheep I'd stabbed in the prison showers, the hoofers in their drug lab... I hope they'll go easy on me.

I'm ready now. I'm ready for my miserable end. Ready to feel that sharp instant of pain before it all goes black.

And then, slowly, the pressure of the gun lifts away.

I blink, swallowing air in short little huffs, still too afraid to really breathe. My paws are still upraised, I'm still kneeling on the creaky floorboards. When I blink my eyes open Mr. Frisk is moving to the mattress. With a tired sigh he sits down, gazing at the floor.

“M-Mr. Frisk?”

“Call me Jacob...” he murmurs, rubbing one eye. “I'm so tired of being a Frisk.”

I swallow hard, before sitting down on my haunches. “I... I... um...”

“Don't worry,” he says, still not looking up at me. “I won't kill you today.”

For a while we sit there, not saying anything. My feet are starting to cramp up, and my legs are beginning to go numb from my hamstrings to my calves. No way am I making the first move though.

“You know I have a son, right?” he says quietly.

“Y-yeah... N-Nicholas Frisk.” I'd been terrified for my life when I realized I'd attacked the son of the Praetor who was training us. When I saw his face on our first day in the Twilight Cathedral I was sure I'd be murdered in my bed.

“Wilde,” he corrects me. “Nicholas Wilde. He's not anything close to being a Frisk.”

For a long while we just sit across from each other. Long, awkward minutes tick by, and somewhere in the middle of it I'd worked up the courage to shift to a more comfortable position. I've even reached out to take my blanket and wrap it around me. Mr. Frisk though... he's untouched by the cold. Like he'd drunk it in and made it a part of himself a long time ago.

“I never wanted to do this...” he begins. “Ever since I was a teenager I knew I had to get away. My granddad- the old Prince- he actually _did_ let me off the hook back then. Even gave me a bit of money so I could get through school on my own. Not enough to live comfortably, but enough that, if I budgeted things right, I could keep my nose clean.

“When Nicholas was born I wanted him to be the best he could be. This was a chance for me to do things _right_. A kit doesn't need a cushy life nearly as much as he needs love. I know this for a fact. Vivian... she'd always wanted more kits, and it wasn't like I was against it or anything, but I guess I was a little selfish. I just wanted to focus on giving Nick everything I could, right?

“My father... he talks a lot about heritage. About how we can trace our bloodline all the way back to the Patricians of Rome, as if we should build who we are on mammals who've been dead a thousand years. Nicholas didn't need a heritage. He needed a _childhood_. He needed...”

Mr. Frisk covers his face with one paw.

When he finally looks up again he's staring past me. Is he trying to see his son? The teenage years he'd missed out on?

“Milo...” he says, sifting through his pockets. A shiver runs down my spine. In our training Mr. Frisk always had some hidden gadget or weapon on his person... a variety of tools to deal with a variety of mammals.

He takes out a small key, checking the tag it's attached to a moment before he tosses it to the ground in front of me.

“Take this. You'll find a locker at the Rocky Road subway station, number 223. Inside is a bugout bag containing fifty thousand bucks and a gun. Ditch the cellphone, find a better hiding spot... somewhere more densely populated this time where you'll blend in,” he walks over and lays a paw on the top of my head. It's surprisingly warm. “When they get rid of the security checkpoints you can head to the docks. Look for a polar bear dock worker named Viktor Martimov. Tell him you're a friend of mine and you need to get out. He'll know what to do.”

My paw feels numb as I reach down and fumble at the key.

“Th-thank you...” I sniffle.

“I'm doing this for me as much as for you, Milo...” he says with a sad little smile. “You're not such a bad kid, really. And if I can't forgive you for your mistakes, how can I expect anyone to even try and forgive me for what I'm going to do?”

I blink, and though I know it's stupid to question him at this point, I blurt it out all the same.

“What're you going to do, Mr. Frisk?”

“For once in the past twenty years... the right thing, I hope.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

The old Tundratown storage unit Jack brings us to hadn't been properly cleaned in months. There's a thin layer of dust on most of the shelves. Tucked in a corner is a bunny-sized motorcycle, and on the desk at the opposite wall there's a laptop that looks to be a model that's at least four or five years old. Several cans of spray-on fur coloring had been stacked neatly in the corner, and next to the desk is a large cardboard box.

“Is this where you've been staying these past few days?” I ask, browsing the bookshelves. Some of them are old college textbooks, but there are a few worn cookbooks and novels as well.

It's almost as cold as it is outside. My breath is still misting in front of me.

“I've got a few safehouses scattered across the City,” he says, tossing a pawful of snow into a garbage bin. He'd packed it against his chin to keep the swelling down after I socked him. “I've actually been staying at one in the Meadowlands. Much more comfortable, but problem is it's a bunny-sized little doomsday bunker, which means Kaplan won't be able to enjoy my hospitality. There's a heater in the corner that should still work, if you could turn it on.”

Jack starts to sift through the box as Benjy crouches and flicks on the heater. I shiver. It'll be a while before it kicks in. In the meantime Jack is moving a bunch of equipment to the coffee table. He hums what sounds like a jazz tune to himself as he arranges the gear, a little half-smile playing on his face. There's a bit of a glow to him now too, like I'd seen in him when he first came to the ZPD. After his breakdown I'd started to think that it was just an act.

“ _”Bad boys are not so picky... they ride away, and feel so happy... to fight for girls they do adore, snorting like boars rolling on the floor... doop doo doo..._ ”

“You seem... better...” I say hesitantly. Benjy looks up from where he's crouching, trying to warm his paws in front of the heater.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Taking a step back from managing the task force has helped with that. A full night's sleep and a proper meal...” Jack says with a relaxed smile, “It's feels like... you know when you get a really bad case of the flu, and for two whole weeks you're aching and stuffy and barely able to breathe. You think to yourself, 'my God I want to die.' Then one day you wake up, your symptoms are mostly gone and... life just seems so much clearer, y'know?”

“I meant...” I stop myself before I say anything I might regret.

But Jack notices my hesitation. “You were referring to my brother.”

“No, I mean...”

“It's all right, Hopps,” he says. His eyes don't meet mine, but his tone is soft and surprisingly gentle. “I'm an Agent. I know how to dissociate. When the mission is over I'll get the chance to mourn, but for now I need to focus.”

“No, it's just... the last I heard the ambulance taking you to the hospital was... well. The ZMS workers were found dead.”

“...Oh.”

I look away from him, flushing. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but the thought that he'd done that still scares me a little.

“I take it you're out of the loop because you were put on leave,” he says simply. “They were henchmammals who were working for Rufinius Frisk, three of the ex-cons he had taken from Highwatch. I recognized them from their files.”

He looks up at me then, placing his paws on my arms. It's not in an overly familiar way though, so I don't feel the need to nudge him aside.

“I just need to emphasize here,” Jack continues, “We'll be going into a combat situation with Nick Wilde. He's had some Praetor training... not enough to beat a prepared ZIA Agent, but he'll be substantially more dangerous than you remember.”

“He's never been able to beat me in a sparring match.”

“I don't doubt your physical abilities, Hopps,” Jack says, gesturing for me and Benjy to take a seat on the couch. The frame creaks under Benjy's weight. “What I need to know is whether you're mentally ready to face off against him. If you flinch, even for a second...”

“I'm not going to get sentimental,” I insist. “So long as you're going to bring him back in one piece.”

“As agreed,” Jack nods. I almost feel like I can trust him after all. Almost. “But regardless, you may be of more help taking down one of the henchmammals.”

“Wait,” Benjy interrupts, “I get that it's gonna be a fight, but what are we talking about here? Are we gonna ambush Wilde somehow?”

“I plan on instigating a situation that forces Rufinius to send Wilde out to meet me. Despite his plotting and his deceptions, deep down inside he believes he's an aristocrat. Which means he's a fox of his word. At least, he'll adhere to the letter of it,” Jack explains.

“So you're gonna bait him,” I say, “but with what?”

“Rufinius is eighty years old by now,” Jack continues. “Which means there's only one reason he's returned to Zootopia. Seraphine and Lionheart think he's come back to take over the City somehow, but it's ridiculous if you think about it. Taking over the government of a city-state as big as Zootopia would take years of infiltration and a huge investment in resources. The Vulpes Sanguinis might just do it... _might_. But Rufinius would likely die halfway through the process. Chances are he wouldn't get to see the dividends, and if he died with his plots unfinished there's a pretty good chance his plans would unravel. He's an ambitious old asshole, but he's not stupid.

“Fact is, Rufinius wanted to secure his legacy. That meant two main goals. First, he needed to secure Nick Wilde as his heir. Centuries of inbreeding to keep the Frisk bloodline pure has led to fertility issues, which is why they need him. Second... he wants _me_.”

That didn't quite explain the assaults on the Blue trade, but that was simple enough to figure out. Blue had rapidly become the hot new street drug and it hadn't spread to the international markets yet. Someone could make a _lot_ of money introducing it to the rest of the world. The assault was also the perfect way for the Sanguinis to lure in Jack, too.

I'm finally starting to feel the warmth radiating from the heater, but my nose still twitches as I take in what Jack had said. “You said... he...” I glance at Benjy, who looks down at me in turn. Jack had confided in me about that when I held him in my lap, but...

“Rufinius Frisk developed four bunny breeds for use as sex slaves,” Jack says smoothly. He must really be used to discussing this topic, because if I had to talk about it I'd probably fumble a bit trying to look for a gentler euphemism. “The Floral Spot, the Silver Coal, the Caramel Silk, and the Opal Oak. I had the misfortune of being the firstborn of his fifth and final breed... the Tiger Lily. Problem is, when I was eight years old the ZIA had uncovered the location of the Sanguinis facility where he was performing his experiments... where I was born.

“They called it the Farm, though it wasn't horticulture that Rufinius worked on. When the Sanguinis learned the ZIA was onto them they had to move their stock, and in the confusion my mom was somehow able to break free with me and my brother Andy. We ran through the night, trying to get away from the Praetors. I remember...”

He pauses for a moment, and his eyes grow misty. But just as quickly Jack blinks away the memories and continues. “I was the only survivor. The only one who escaped the purge. Well... me and Andy. The Sanguinis had to flee just as the ZIA arrived, and that's where they recovered me.

“I kept a low profile for the next decade or so, though living under ZIA protection also helped. The Sanguinis never looked for me in that time. Either they thought I was dead, or they were too busy expanding their business and trying to avoid the law. But I think the fact that I became an Agent, that this bunny who was supposed to be nothing more than a pet for 'proper' mammals... well, that thought must've been a thorn in Rufinius' paw. _Especially_ after I started taking a more active paw against the Vulpes Sanguinis.

“He still thinks of me as his property. Something that'd gone rogue, just like how Zootopia treats the Vulpes Sanguinis as their national shame since the Frisk Family had its roots here. So just like how the ZIA hunts the Sanguinis to the corners of the earth, Frisk wants me back under his control. He either wants to kill me, or breed me, or both. But he needs to do that within his lifetime, or he won't rest easy in his grave.”

Jack gives me and Benjy a few moments to process his story. I'm really not sure what to make of it. It makes sense of course, and it really pulls together a lot of the fragmented pieces of these past few months. But it also sounds _really_ egotistical too. I mean, what sane mammal would trade so many lives and throw up so much chaos and violence just to get someone with an unusual coat pattern?

“Yeah, I know,” Jack smirks when I say as much, “But like I said, Rufinius Frisk is an aristocrat. And rich assholes always have ridiculous, overly dramatic ways of looking at the world. He refuses to die with me being a black mark on his life history, because no matter a mammal's successes, it's the black marks that really stand out.”

He takes a breath, rubbing his paws together and grinning. “Now, shall we get down to business? I need to provide you with some ZIA equipment.”

Benjy leans in close and lets out a pleased rumble. He really _is_ itching for a fight.

Jack draws our attention to the stuff he's laid out on the coffee table in front of us. He points to a row of red rods the size of markers. “These are stims. Use them as you would Epi-Pens, though if you're not familiar I've got a few expired stims and we can get some oranges to practice on. They've got a cocktail of drugs that fend of sleep and fatigue and enhance nerve conduction. They'll improve your strength and reflexes, but the stuff'll also put a strain on your heart. Most of the doses are sized for small mammals, but as bunnies we'll still wanna take extra care since our systems tend to be more sensitive. I was able to acquire one for large mammals like Kaplan, too.”

He taps a black sphere the size of a mandarin orange. “Flash bomb. Instead of a 5-second timer though it goes off on impact. Press the switch on the side to arm it, then throw it against a hard surface. Be sure to turn away... the magnesium charge'll give off a blinding flash of light. No concussive blast though.”

Jack taps a gas canister this time. “High-dose fox repellent. It's pretty pungent, so careful you don't set it off too close, but it should affect mammals with a strong sense of smell much more. If they're close enough to the blast one of these should be enough to incapacitate him. At the very least it'll mark him even if he's wearing a scent mask. Just wish we had a sniffer here.”

“And finally...” Jack picks up a small pill bottle. “Cyanide capsules, if this plan does go south and you get captured.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, you... you can't be serious.”

“You need to understand the stakes here, Hopps. I grew up in a Frisk breeding facility. You don't want to be a female sent to one of those,” Jack says firmly, “Now, you don't swallow these pills. If you do it'll just pass through your system. The compound is just inert then too. What you wanna do is bite through the capsule shell- hard as you can- like you're trying to crack a walnut. Once it's exposed to oxygen it'll rapidly break down into an aerosol. Just a couple deep breaths and it'll be over real quick. I've seen it in action and trust me, it's almost peaceful.”

“These are real small,” Benjy says, holding up the bottle between two fingers.

“I'm afraid I don't have any pills sized for large mammals. You could try using one of these... there's enough of a dosage in here to put down a tiger, though it'll take a bit longer. Only problem is it's so tiny you may end up just swallowing it, and like I said they won't work the same when they're ingested.”

“I'm sorry I'll be missing out then,” Benjy says dryly.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

They say love is the most powerful force in the universe. And I'll admit, it's a hell of a thing. It can turn a black heart half-circle, make you want to become a better mammal. It can push you to do things you never thought you were capable of, to be worthy of something greater than yourself.

Others though say hate is even stronger. And yeah... it's a fucking bitch of a thing. Love fades with time as you become more familiar and the idealistic picture you made of your partner begins to peel at the edges. But hate... it's relentless. Persistent. You cling to it long after all else has faded. Hate is coded into our basest instincts, because before you can live long enough to love, you need to destroy the things that threaten you.

I've felt both. I've lived both. But the fact is, there's something beyond either.

Purpose. It's cold and implacable. It drives you forward with relentless vigor. It doesn't depend on some outside force to keep you going, it's something that comes from within. And when you get that clarity of mind, that purity of being, you get into this Zen state where you simply know what must be done, and you _do it_.

It's why I feel so damn serene right now.

“What is that?” Kaplan asks, leaning over as he watches me work.

“One of the two-way radio earbuds that the Praetors use,” I say, examining it through the magnifying glass. My paws are steady as a surgeon's as I fiddle with the connections with a pair of tweezers.

“You stole evidence?” Kaplan frowns. Such a stickler for protocol, this one.

“He was dead, and there were sixteen more pairs like it.”

He lets out a resigned grunt.

“I'd prefer if you didn't breathe on me like that, Kaplan,” I say as I attach the output wiring to the speaker. Sure I could just recharge the batteries for this and do my thing behind closed doors, but Kaplan and Judy need to be able to trust me if we're to work together. And that means letting them listen in.

“Besides, it's not exactly high-end tech here. The ZIA uses more advanced com devices. What we really need is a direct line to any Sanguinis monitors who might be listening in. Now, I'm gonna need the two of you to stay perfectly silent. Don't say a word, don't even breathe too loudly. All right?”

Kaplan and Judy nod. Good.

I close the casing, and attach the micro-USB charger to the port. A faint click from the speaker, and we've got a line.

“This is Agent Jack Savage of the ZIA. I want to speak directly to Rufinius Frisk.”

I sit there, waiting, resisting the urge to tap my fingers against the tabletop. In the corners of my vision I can see Judy and Kaplan leaning in a bit closer.

“This is Agent Jack Savage of the ZIA. I repeat, I want to speak directly to Rufinius Varius Frisk. I have a proposal to make.”

For one long moment there is only silence, when a vixen on the other end speaks.

“ _Please wait a moment._ ”

My heart is hammering against my ribcage. It's finally come to this. For years I'd pursued the Vulpes Sanguinis, but I've never gotten anywhere close to Rufinius Frisk. I don't know of anyone living who's even seen his face in twenty years. The fact that I was now going to hear his voice, to actually _talk_ to him...

“ _This is the Prince._ ” The voice on the line is old and weary, but there's a subtle edge to it like a razor sliding across pleather. “ _And you are my Tiger Lily. I do hope you understand the honor I am giving you, speaking to a rabbit directly._ ”

“Don't call me that.”

“ _But that is what you are. A lovely little flower that I bred in my garden. Yet instead of blossoming and adorning my bedchamber you've turned into a disgusting little weed, haven't you? You've done your best to strangle the life out of everything I've tried to nurture_.”

If that's meant to insult me he's got me completely wrong. I took so much fucking _pleasure_ overturning his plans. “You're a tod of your word, Rufinius. I know I can trust what you say when you speak as the Prince. So... tell me, how many Praetors do you have available to you if we meet within twelve hours?”

“ _Four,_ ” he says with a touch of hesitation in his voice.

“And what about the Praetors you have guarding your facilities abroad?” I ask.

“ _They can be summoned, but not without good reason_ ,” Rufinius admits, “ _But the logistics of doing so would preclude a confrontation within the time period you specified. Besides, I would have to plan around the security checkpoints and your rapid response unit... RACERs, I believe they're called? They killed the vast majority of the Praetors I brought with me._ ”

“Are you going to tuck tail and run?” I smirk, though I'm wary of him volunteering this much information. “No, that's not your style is it, Frisk?”

“ _Four Praetors is more than I need for my plans._ ”

“And what are those?”

“ _Oh Tiger Lily... I can hardly divulge everything to you. Suffice it to say that I am going to be remaining in the City for the foreseeable future. Why don't we chat, mammal to mammal? I know you're eager to meet me, and I will swear upon the blood of my ancestors that you will be treated with utmost civility as one of my guests. I will even swear to release you unharmed once our business is concluded._ ”

Fuck the tod really loves to hear himself talk.

“I have another proposal,” I say, leaning in. “I'll give you once chance and one chance only to capture me. But the conditions will be on _my_ terms.”

“ _And why, pray tell, would I ever agree to_ _ **that**_ _?_ ”

“Because you're _dying_ , you decrepit old asshole,” I hiss, “Because if you don't take this chance now, I'll leave this City. I will fucking disappear using my aliases and my foreign connections. I will go underground and be free from your filthy clutches for the rest of your miserable life. You will _never_ find me.”

“ _Freedom on the run will not be the freedom you envision._ ”

“I'm not going to take life advice from you.”

“ _And I will not be baited by a rabbit._ ”

“Won't you?” I laugh. “Imagine. The Tiger Lily you've been itching to recover will never be yours. Bold, brilliant Rufinius Varius Frisk... all those plans and machinations, coming back to Zootopia to trap Jack Savage, and he didn't just slip out of your grasp. No, you let me go because I gave you one chance and you were too chickenshit to take it. Your legacy will be tarnished _forever_.”

There is silence on the line as Rufinius mulls it over.

“ _What is it you propose?_ ”

“We've both lost far too much in this conflict, so let's be more economical about getting what we each want. You have four Praetors left. I only want one: Nicholas Wilde. We meet, we face off, and whoever wins wins. But I promise you, Frisk. If I see _anyone_ else within five miles I've got an exit strategy.”

“ _An old-fashioned brawl, like street thugs? How very uncouth._ ”

“Yet it does have its charm,” I smirk.

“ _Indeed. Very well then. One Praetor. Nicholas Wilde, and no more. But now that you've chosen the terms, it is my right to set the location._ ”

“That's not part of our deal.”

“ _We are negotiating, Tiger Lily. Do you really think I am so foolish as to agree to fight on territory you have already selected?_ ”

“We do this on my terms, or we don't do it at all,” I say, jabbing a finger into the desk for emphasis. That smug patrician tone is beginning to wear on me. “You won't be able to live with the shame of letting me slip from your grasp.”

“ _If that is how things proceed, I will only have to live with that failure for a few years. But_ _ **you**_ _,_ _Jack Savage_ _..._ ” I can almost hear Frisk smiling on the other end at my name. He practically purrs around it, like he's molesting each syllable with his corroded tongue. “ _I know what_ _ **you**_ _want as well. And if this encounter does not occur at all... you will have_ _ **decades**_ _to regret letting this chance slip from your paws._ ”

Rufinius knows. It's not like it's some big secret, but the fact that he could snag that little hook in my heart leaves my insides trembling.

No. Center yourself, Jack. Focus.

“ _In truth, I think you would_ _ **prefer**_ _the location that I propose,_ ” Rufinius continues. “ _Not merely a neutral location. In fact, it is one in which you would have a slight logistical advantage... let us meet where you were born, Jack._

“ _Let us meet at the Farm._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter commentary ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Hope everyone had (or is having) a nice holiday season!
> 
> From some of the comments I've gotten I know that Milo is hardly anyone's favorite character, but I really like writing his story arc. The idea of lost potential and falling in with the wrong crowd is both so tragic and so real to me.
> 
> Milo is also an interesting mirror to hold up and reflect the traits of others. It's important to remember that characters aren't sole, consistent individuals. They are polymorphic entities that take on different traits depending on their situations and surroundings. And this moment for me is why I felt I needed to include him in this story, because he brings out a side to Nick's dad that we haven't gotten to see until now: the regret, the love, the sadness over all the years he'd lost.
> 
> Jacob was so pure and affectionate and good in Part 1 of It's A Fox Thing, which while great IRL makes for dull storytelling. Though he's taken a dark shade after the past twenty years of working with the Sanguinis there's still some good in him. And Milo has always been meant to reflect that. Jacob sees not only himself in young Milo, but some of Nick as well.
> 
> Also, the banter between Jack Savage and Rufinius Frisk was suuuuuper fun to write. Thinly-veiled smug contempt versus outright and open hatred is just too delicious a contrast. It also showcases how I've been wanting to portray the two species for all this time: foxes as the emotionally reserved ones, while bunnies as the more expressive ones.
> 
> Jack is in this weird space where he buries his feelings to get the job done, but they end up festering deep inside him, which drives him crazy. So Jack letting loose on Frisk is pretty cathartic for both him as a character and me who got to write it. His more extreme inner thoughts are especially fun (“He practically purrs around [my name], like he's molesting each syllable with his corroded tongue.”)
> 
> As always, please leave your comments below, it helps encourage me to keep writing knowing that there's genuine interest.


	42. Outfoxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Judy debate the merits of their plan, Nick enjoys a candy bar, Rufinius feels the weight of time.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“ _Let us meet where you were born, Jack_ ,” Frisk says in a throaty, almost seductive hiss. “ _Let us meet at the Farm._ ”

Jack had seemed so much calmer, so much more _centered_ earlier. But now his body tenses up. His nails scrape along the surface of his desk as his paws ball up into fists, and his shoulders tremble. I want to reach out to him, to grab his arm and shake some sense into him. Frisk is playing him. Trying to lure him into some-

“ _Done_ ,” Jack says. “We'll meet at six in the evening tomorrow, sharp. You know what'll happen when our timing is off.”

“ _Glad we could come to a compromise_ ,” Frisk says in a pleased tone. “ _And Tiger Lily? Because this may be the last time we speak, I would simply like you to know that your mother squealed like a rat when I gave her to the Praetors to soften up. Your brother, however... I used him in every way a fox could use a rabbit, and he moaned like a little whore when I first slid into hi-_ ”

Before Frisk can finish, Jack picks up the speaker and is smashing the base into the earbud. Again and again he hammers it into the desk until all that's left is splintered plastic and tangled metal.

When he's finally done he just stands there, panting.

“Are you _**crazy?!**_ ” I snap. “Don't you see that Frisk was baiting you? Why are we going to fight on _his_ turf?!”

“Yeah that's pretty fucking stupid if you ask me,” Benjy says, crossing his massive arms. “You better have a damn good reason for this, because I'm not walking into an ambush.”

“I expected a bit more courage from you, Kaplan,” Jack huffs, brushing his ears back with one paw. “And a little more determination from _you_ , Hopps. I'm not going to lie and say this will be a sure thing. Or that Frisk won't manage something clever that completely screws us. But frankly, with what I've got and what I know of his limitations, this is the best I can manage. Besides, Frisk is right. It's probably the most fair terrain we could hope for. We've even got a slight edge.”

“From what I've learned about him Frisk doesn't _do_ fair,” I say. “He comes off as the type who'd only go into a fight with a major advantage on his side. The Farm... that's the Sanguinis breeding facililty, right?”

“It was,” Jack says, leaning against the table. “But ever since the ZIA raided it we've been keeping it under surveillance. We've mapped it out, screened it for traps and secret vaults. I know the terrain as well as Rufinius. Better, even. He hasn't seen the inside in twenty years. Plus, the moment we enter a hundred-yard radius of the site the monitoring devices will notify the ZIA, and they'll send teams to investigate. I'm guessing anywhere from eight to twelve Agents. Armed, with four separate cars. Maybe a chopper if one's available. So once the perimeter is breached we'll have an hour to secure Wilde before they arrive.”

“That's an insanely long response time,” Benjy says skeptically.

“Well failing that... if we can get away from the Praetors we can hole up in the vault there. It'll be a tight squeeze with Kaplan, but we should be able to wait it out until reinforcements arrive.”

I rub my temples. “You can't possibly believe that he'd agree to just send Nick out to you though. He obviously wouldn't trust you to come alone.”

“No, he wouldn't,” Jack agrees. “But Rufinius is a fox of his word. If he says something, you know it's true. If he makes an agreement, it's ironclad. Criminal organizations all across the world know and respect him based on this reputation.”

Jack pushes himself away from the desk then, and begins pacing back and forth. “The bastard told me he only has four Praetors left available to him, said it straight out,” he continues. “That would have to be his main lieutenants: Mr. Smythe, the Revenant. Sebastian Dusk, the Smiler. Jacob, the Prodigal...

“And finally, Nick himself. Here's the thing though: Rufinius will be bound to his word, but when he needs to he will stick to the strict letter of it instead of the spirit. I intentionally left him a loophole in his agreement. He promised to send only one Praetor... Nick. But we never said _anything_ about any of his henchmammals.”

“Wait, you basically gave him leeway to send a bunch of hired thugs down on us?” Benjy says, shocked.

“More like I channeled him into something I'm prepared to deal with. Besides, it won't come to that,” Jack says, rubbing his chin. “Before Skye was hospitalized she'd been talking to her old contacts in the criminal underground. Ever since Rufinius got all those convicts from Highwatch pardoned there've been no mention of any other recruitment attempts. Which means he'll only be able to send in what he's got.”

“Wait, who were the three mammals you killed in the ambulance?” I ask.

“Fiver Alamata, hyena. Horace Mellison, honey badger. Eustace Scroff, boar,” Jack ticks off in sequence. He doesn't even blink over listing the mammals he's killed, and that's disturbing.

I mull over the list of names, checking them off along with all the others we know were captured or killed.

“He's down to just one henchmammal. Milo Cinzento. And he's just a kid...” I can't help but feel sorry for him. I'd updated myself on his case now and again, since his involvement in the Lone Digger had been such a big event. Guy came from a good family with a good upbringing, and had no real record of trouble with the law or at school even. The cub just fell into the wrong crowd.

But if Cinzento is one of them now... what a waste.

“Impressive as always, Hopps,” Jack smiles.

I wish he wouldn't. I'm done trying to impress him.

“That said, I wouldn't discount him having one or two additional non-Praetor cronies at his side along with Cinzento. But really, the Sanguinis has always traveled light and recruited locally. And it's the Praetors we have to worry about the most. I can't say I have Elkredge's expertise in planning for combat situations, but it's rubbed off a bit over the years, and I estimate the three of us would be an even match, and we definitely have the edge since we can always delay for backup.”

“Or we _could_ contact the goddamn authorities and get a team to crack down on Wilde's ass if he's stupid enough to arrive,” Kaplan sniffs.

“No,” Jack says firmly. “I wasn't _completely_ out of it when I said Conall was working for the foxes. Even if he's under investigation now, who knows how many other Sanguinis moles have been planted in the precinct? If we call the ZPD and the mole gets wind of it, he'll tip off Rufinius and we can say goodbye to our last chance to nab Wilde.”

“Well,” I sniff. “You've really thought of everything, haven't you?”

“Far from it,” Jack shrugs. “I just set things up to make sure the tricks Rufinius pulls out of his ass are the ones I expect.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Done.

I'm finally done.

Frankly I would've finished earlier if it weren't for the polar bear staring like he's about to swallow me whole if I make a wrong move, but after all that's happened I can hardly expect the Prince to trust me.

Marcus had patched my laptop in to Zootopia's civic records and internal government bulletins to keep an eye on things. It's the sort of clerical work Gramps would normally delegate to one of the vixens here. Which, frankly, is kinda sexist. It'd been the perfect opportunity to get some proper work done, though. The only issue is keeping him from finding out what I'm actually doing. There's no doubt that he's searching my browser history. Normally that prospect is terrifying enough on its own, and that's even without me working behind his back.

I try to cover my tracks. I've got about thirty tabs open and I'm going through all of them in turn. Ewetube, Muzzlebook, porn sites, old forums, news feeds... well, the last one I'd dropped quick with all the alerts popping up about the Catsro Square Attack. I start to get panic attacks if I read too many of those.

That's what they're calling it... the Catsro Square Attack. There's no mention of the task force, and only partial references to the fact that there's nearly a hundred mammals trapped underground. The ZIA were keeping a tight lid on things.

If I somehow by some miracle get to return to civilian life I'm not sure I'd be able to look at the City the same way again. Jeez, Honey Badger really _had_ been right about ZIA instituting coverups. Makes me wonder what other crazy conspiracy theories she'd been right about. The Firefly Sauce thing? Well, it's not like I go to Bug Burga much anyways.

Of course if whovever's watching me doesn't get sick of having an eyeball full of lesbian moose porn, videos of caterpillars eating tiny leaf sandwiches or me trolling anti-intespecies marriage forums I'm keeping them busy with what looks to be my more official duties. I've got tabs open for the public records of Zootopia's sewer system, internal memos for the ZPD, the traffic cameras across the Downtown district, civilian driver's license records, lists of cargo manifests, tax records... It's slowed my work down significantly, but luckily I've still got those pills that cut down my need for sleep, so I can do deskwork for twenty hours a day.

Plus, if they _are_ watching they won't be able to guess which one I'm _really_ looking through.

Or they'll see through the fact that I'm trying to throw up a smokescreen. I can almost see Gramps wrapping his paws around my throat, fingers tightening, me gasping as I kick and writhe while he chokes the life out of my body...

I shiver, pushing myself away from the table and trying to keep from tearing up. Pearl had done nothing wrong. He'd just been another pawn in one of Rufinius' cruel schemes. Those purple eyes, the way they stared at me as he died like he was begging me for help before they'd gone glassy and still...

I hadn't known him for long, but I try to remember him for who he was. The frightened little rabbit who'd just wanted to see the outside world. Whose only way of living it was by reading. He loved stories of the countryside, utopian tales of big cities, teen novels about high school and the suburbs. Everything he'd missed out on. Nothing he'd ever know on his own.

I try not to think of Judy when I remember his purple eyes. He wasn't just a proxy for Judy. I wasn't going to sully his memory by forgetting that he was his own mammal.

Our relationship had gone as far as a little cuddle now and again, with him making me cocktails or coffee when he thought I needed it. Sometimes I'd even let my guard down and think about how nice it was having him around. But then I'd catch myself thinking along those lines and I'd get into a real pit of self-loathing. No way in hell was I going to get used to having a pet bunny.

Pushing up out of my chair I trod over to the bathroom. Every time I try to close the door Brutus just hammers at it until I agree to leave it open. I'm on probation now, and that means my freedoms have become much more restricted.

The furnishings here are more suitable for a mid-end motel, which suits me just fine. I like motels, even the ones cheap enough that they'd seem like the kinda place where you'd murder a hooker. _Especially_ those, actually, where the only food is chips from a vending machine or a mealworm chili dog from the local 7-11 just around the corner. They're places of anonymity where you don't have to make connections, you don't get to be judged. You just hide in here, do your business, and move on. The manager might know, but he wouldn't tell a soul. They forget what you've done the moment you check out.

I wish I could say the same for myself.

I splash some cold water on my face and sniffle, then look up to the mirror. It's the first time I've actually seen myself in days. There are dark rings around my eyes, and I've lost some weight. Look a lot like Dad actually given how haunted he'd seemed when I first saw him again, like way more than twenty years had weighed on the guy. But while he's still well-groomed my fur's scraggy and unkempt. I hadn't had much energy to brush even with my winter coat beginning to come in.

Reaching into my pocket I pull out my last Carroty Yum-Yum bar... Cinnamon flavor. I'd hidden it in my coat pocket for safekeeping. It's the last one I've got. The ZIA had raided my apartment and tried to capture me, and once I was in hiding from them I knew I wouldn't be able to get any more. I'd held onto it then, trying to choose the right moment to give this last one to Pearl. I don't think he'd gotten he chance to try Cinnamon yet.

When we had to move to our new location I'd rediscovered it while getting dressed. The moment I saw it I broke down and had to spend a good hour crying.

Might as well not let this go to waste.

I sit on the edge of the bathtub. The wrapper crinkles as I open it up. The bar itself is a little squashed from being in my pocket for so long, and it's warm and squishy from my body heat.

The first bite reminds me of carrot cake. A really dense, really sweet carrot cake made from shredded oats and compressed into a bar with honey and cinnamon, all glued together with condensed carrot juice. It's not bad, if a bit cloying. I can see why Judy likes them so much. And why Pearl...

I rub my eyes and sniff. No, keep it together, Wilde. I need to stay focused. My head's packed full of all that data I'd been sifting through. Foxes have good memories, but even this is meeting my limit.

Still... Pearl deserves a moment. He deserved so much more, goddamn it. The least I can do is keep his memory alive a little longer.

I sit bolt upright when there's a knock at my door. Re-wrapping the candy bar again I stuff it quickly into my pants pocket before I leave the restroom.

Sebastian greets me with his usual friendly grin when Brutus opens the door. “Nicholas!” he says cheerfully, spreading his arms wide. I try not to let him see me sweat. The guy is just happy all the damn time, so a smile from him could mean anything from a friendly greeting to someone getting his throat slit. “Goodness, but you look terrible! I hear you've been leaving your meals untouched these last few days.”

“I haven't been hungry.”

“That won't do! That won't do, my lad!” he laughs, “Well... we'll see if we can coax your appetite out. I understand that you've been morose lately, so I've put in a special request to the chef. Tonight he has prepared _poulet demi-deuil_. Chicken in half-mourning. Slices of black truffle packed under the skin before the bird is roasted, so it gets the appearance that it's off to a funeral. Clever no?”

“Yes,” I say flatly. “Very clever.”

“Oh come now, come now! Cheer up, my tod! Just a little joke on my part. Well, in any case I think you'll enjoy it, seeing that truffles are in season. But that aside, the Prince wishes to see you.”

This can't be good.

The safehouse in the Canyonlands is much smaller and much less grandiose. The plain sandstone walls are unadorned, but the audience chamber that Gramps had chosen has a few pieces of expensive furniture. He's sitting on the end of a chaise lounge as brown rabbit rubs his shoulders, and a spotted young buck lies sprawled over the sofa with his head in the Prince's lap. He's zipped up thankfully, so he's probably just finished.

Behind him and to his right is Dad. He's prim and clean and well-dressed as usual, but as usual it's hard to match him to the memory I have of a father who had such positive energy and such a gentle smile. He's tired and worn now, just like me.

To his left is the spooky black fox in the night-black cloak. His soulless silver eyes stare out from a face crisscrossed with pale scars. This guy always gave me the heebie jeebies.

“Nicholas...” Gramps had never been truly warm, but his tone is more grim now. Ever since he'd implicated me in saving Judy in the Twilight Cathedral he's been like this. Like something between us had been severed.

His nose twitches.

“Come closer. No, _closer_...”

I edge forward in mincing little half-steps, swallowing the fear cresting in me. Just as I'm a foot away his paw shoots forward, grabs my tie, and yanks me down towards him. He's got a mighty strong grip for someone so old.

I brace myself, thinking he's perving on me and I'm about to feel his dry mouth on mine, when instead I feel the faint little huffs of his breath against my whiskers. He's sniffing me.

Gramps lets me go then and leans back into the cushions. “I may be old, Nicholas, but I still have the nose of a sommelier. Sebastian: search him, please.”

“Wh-” I start, but Sebastian's already molesting me with his paws, patting me down from my chest down to my waist. He slips his fingers into my pocket and pulls out the half-eaten and half-wrapped Carroty Yum-Yum bar.

I start to sweat as Sebastian presents what he found to the Prince.

Gramps takes one look at the candy bar, nose wrinkling in disgust as he gives a dismissive wave to Sebastian. The arctic fox turns around, walks over to the garbage bin, and tosses it away with cheerful contempt. When he's done he spins on his heels and returns with the same pleased smile frozen on his muzzle.

That was just unnecessary.

“Now, on to business,” the Prince continues, “Rhona has confirmed for me that all three vixens are pregnant. As it stands, you might say I am done with you.”

I _really_ hope I'm not detecting a hint of finality in his tone.

The thought that three vixens carrying my soon-to-be kits makes me feel queasy. I'd like to think that Gramps is lying. It's such a violation, for him to take such an intimate piece of me and use it like this. Ever since I learned about Tommy Daywood I'd wanted to be a father, but these kits wouldn't be mine, would they? They'd grow up under Rufinius' influence, trained by Gramps for the years he has left and then. Even when he dies I've been practically disowned as his heir, and that leaves them to be raised by...

Well, I don't have to read the room to see know how the hierarchy works. Sebastian stands at Gramps' right paw, so he'll be their steward until they come of age.

I'm about to ask to be excused so I can cry-vomit into a toilet when he continues.

“However... I have just received a very interesting proposal from your Jack Savage. I am ashamed to admit it, but both he and I are in similar situations. He has gone rogue from the ZIA, and I myself have seen much of my resources and mammalpower drained. And so we have come to an agreement: one final confrontation between our two sides. And I have chosen to send _you_ to retrieve him.”

Dad's eye twitches slightly, and he stiffens just a hair. He hadn't known about _this_.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. My face _still_ hurts from the beating Agent Stripes had given me. And chances are if we _do_ meet again he might just kill me. “W-wait... surely you can send someone else better suited for this...”

“I wont be sending you alone of course. Mr. Smythe will go with you. His unique talents will be most crucial for this mission. And Brutus shall come as well. More than enough deadly talent to accomplish what needs to be done.”

Dad places a paw on the back of the seat now, leaning in. “Father. My Prince. Let me come too, please. I'll happily bring the rabbit back to you.”

“You were unable to bring him back to me when he was an eight-year-old kit,” Gramps scoffs. “And unfortunately I am bound by my word. I have agreed to send only two foxes into this confrontation, and one of them must be Smythe.”

“Then send me in Nicholas' stead,” Dad urges, leaning in closer and drumming a fist against his chest. “Nick has some middling talent, but he isn't a fighter.”

Gee. Thanks, Dad.

“I refuse to send someone who could not capture a child twenty years ago,” Rufinius says coldly. “Besides, there are multiple reasons for Nicholas to go on this mission. First, because it is a chance for him to finally prove himself. Second, because I suspect Agent Savage will be bringing Judy Hopps along to assist him.”

 _Judy_...

“Yes,” the Prince continues. “It seems that our intrepid Jack Savage broke into her apartment yesterday and searched the place. He discovered and disabled our monitoring devices, and it would make sense for him to go to Hopps and get her on his side with this new evidence. Though I wouldn't discount him bringing a couple others he can trust.”

I'd never known that it could hurt so much, hearing another mammal's name. Especially when it's on a third party's lips. I'd never get to see her again otherwise. Never get to laugh together with her, feel her warm little body against mine. She'll never again hug my tail when she slept at night. We'll never again eat off of each other's plates when we sit down for a meal...

“It would be the perfect chance for you two to clear the air face-to face,” the Prince adds, “And it would certainly be a shame if she were killed.”

“I'll do it,” I say firmly. “I'll get Jack for you, or I'll die trying.”

Dad doesn't say anything, but the look he gives me says volumes. It's not the sort of thing a father likes to hear from his son.

Sure Dad would try to protect her if he did go on this mission. But Judy would hate the very idea that she needs protecting. Besides, Judy is... _was_ my partner. And she deserved a proper face-to-face.

“I know how you feel, Prodigal...” the Prince says, not even glancing back at my dad. “But he will be protected quite well. Brutus shall be the brawn, and Smythe the agility and skills to do so.”

And once again I'm the brains. Fighter, Mage, Thief. Gee, the classic combo once again.

“And if it will ease your mind Jacob, I will offer this. If Nicholas is successful I will release him from the Vulpes Sanguinis. I will even fund a new life for him abroad, under a new name.”

“You... would really do that, my Prince?” Dad says in surprise.

“I just said so, did I not?” the Prince says. “Once he secures Jack Savage he will have nothing else I want or need. And after all, despite his many failings he _is_ family.”

“W-wait... I'm not gonna be some deadbeat dad who leaves his kits to- to be raised by Sebastian!” Not by the fucking Smiler.

Gramps raises an eyebrow. Sebastian laughs.

“You were never one of us, Nicholas. Not truly,” Gramps continues, “Though I have forgiven your little betrayals out of the kindness of my heart, that fact has become all too clear with time. You would never become happy here.”

“I'm never happy,” I say, eyes narrowing. “I'm not abandoning my kits.”

“Oh, Little Nicky! What wouldn't you approve of with regards to their upbringing?” Sebastian asks. “The Prince has many years ahead of him yet. He'll be taking a direct paw in their upbringing _long_ before I have the distinguished honor of becoming their steward.”

I open my mouth, about to say something I'm pretty sure I'm gonna regret, when Dad cuts in.

“My Prince, if I may speak with him a moment?”

“Very well,” Rufinius waves a paw. “Convince your boy to do the right thing.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

The Prodigal takes Nicholas to the other end of the room, chiding him gently. It is no secret that Jacob is unhappy with how his life had turned out, yet he had resigned himself to his fate long ago. Nicholas however might yet be saved. Oh he has been fighting my influence, doing his best to resist me at every turn. He's been much more stubborn than I had anticipated.

It had become increasingly clear in these past few weeks that the effort of keeping him under control is not worth the dividends. Especially if I would entrust him with my legacy. Either Nicholas will die in the oncoming fight with Jack Savage, or I will send him off with a million in cash or so to start a new life of modest comfort. In Cairo, perhaps. I know for a fact that the ZIA has withdrawn from all operations there.

Regardless, he will no longer be a thorn in my side.

When they return it is with a very chastened Nicholas and a content Jacob.

“I... I agree to your terms,” Nicholas says in a low mumble.

“Splendid,” I lean back into my seat. “Your orders are simple then. You will retrieve Jack Savage. Alive preferably, dead only if necessary. For now however have some supper and rest up, I will brief you on the strategy before dinner. Jacob, Mr. Smythe... if the two of you will escort Nicholas?”

The moment they're out the door Sebastian turns to me with his usual grin.

“I understand that you had the leeway to send Brutus, but I thought the agreement was only one Praetor, my Prince.”

“Yes. One Praetor,” I say, leaning back as my sweet Opal Oak bunny rubs my shoulders. “I promised him precisely one Praetor, Nick Wilde. But Nicholas is no Praetor. Even if it were not for the fact that I have already disowned him, the middling amount of training he has received is not nearly enough for him to qualify for the title. He is a novice at best, yet to even earn a Praetorian name.”

Sebastian's blue eyes twinkle at the realization. “Ah. Most wise, my Prince.”

When Jack Savage first asked how many Praetors I had remaining, the rabbit didn't think that I would include myself among them when I counted four. Oh it has been long decades since I have served in such a capacity, but as the Prince I have not relinquished my former titles.

And if Jacob hoped he could convince me to send him in Mr. Smythe's stead, he would be sorely mistaken. True, he is an exceptional combatant. Yet not only would require we Smythe's talents to truly gain an upper paw, but I cannot entrust Jacob with a mission like this. If he was forced to choose between saving his son's life or recovering the Tiger Lily he would not make the right decision. And this is my last chance to retrieve my fifth and final breed.

The oncoming fight will require some planning. I had long ago abandoned that particular breeding facility, and my memory of the layout is dim. Even if we can retrieve the old blueprints my innate familiarity with the locale will be poor compared to Savage's. Yet far outside the boundaries of Zootopia as it is, the Farm will not be easily accessible to backup from the ZPD or ZIA. Oh Savage could certainly tell them about the encounter well beforehand, but he is smart enough now to realize that I would learn quite quickly if that were to happen.

I extend Sebastian my paw, while the bunnies back away and bow meekly. Sebastian takes me by the arm, lifting me to my feet.

My knees wobble just slightly. There is a faint twinge in my back. Rhona has warned me of my metabolic markers, and I have for the most part scaled back some indulgences over the past few years. Fortunate for me that my paws and joints are as of yet unaffected by arthritis thanks to the battery of medications she has prescribed.

Despite my bacchanalian tendencies I do look after my own health with an obsession. I refuse to spend my last years immobile or incontinent or senile, confined to my deathbed while I piss and shit myself deep into dementia. Yet it is only delaying the inevitable.

“I'm afraid you overestimated my strength, Sebastian...” Many years ahead of me indeed. A few scant years, a full decade with a little luck and care. Good, loyal Sebastian... though I know he will serve me well as my Steward, I can only hope to inculcate in my heirs the proper lessons in life before I pass.

“You know me, my Prince,” he says with a grin. “I am ever the optimist.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author commentary, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I really love the trope of the character who refuses to lie. It makes for such incredibly interesting intrigues and subtle opacities. I think the best example here would be the Aes Sedai from Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time, where this organization of sorceresses, the Aes Sedai, are magically bound to "speak no word that is untrue." This means they always speak in vague terms and half-truths, but when they say "X is so" outright, those dealing with them have no choice but to believe what they're saying. They're in this weird middle space where you both trust and distrust their word.
> 
> I definitely wanted Rufinius to exhibit this quality, though I wish I'd been able to showcase more of this nature from him. He's a very gentlemanly mobster and he speaks with a lot of half-truths, but he's charismatic enough to pull it off. I wanted to have a character whose manipulation is subtle and complex so the person he's trying to control doesn't even see the puppet strings. Part of the reason is that it's just good business... foxes have such a bad reputation in Zootopia, so Rufinius being regarded as a fox whose word can be trusted for the most part is pretty crucial in his business dealings. Second, as an aristocrat he thinks lying is just crass and uncouth and doesn't take much brainpower. It's why Rufinius slapped Nick straight across the face when Nick tried to lie to him for the first so many chapters ago. It also makes such an interesting juxtaposition in his character between his courtly demeanor and his ruthless brutality.
> 
> It also makes for more challenging ways to write his dialogue, in regards to the reasons he shot down Jacob's proposals to take Nick's place instead. All of what Rufinius said was true, but not the whole truth. Getting into his headspace while writing that conversation was a fun little challenge. I gotta reuse this character archetype in my other works.


	43. Nick Wilde Must Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy discusses Crossfit, Judy gets a tour, Nick runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author commentary ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I've been told before that I write pretty good action scenes, but I have to admit that those are the least interesting parts of writing for me. It's all mechanical stuff: who's holding what weapons and in what hand, what the body positions are, what injuries have occurred. There's a lot to keep track of and it's just parts in motion.
> 
> I really prefer finding new interesting ways to describe emotions and events.

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

I put on my best grin as Officer Lionel Beauchomp squints at the fake ID I've passed him.   
“You've lost a lot of weight, Mr. Felix.”

“Yep!” I say, trying to come off as cheerful as possible while patting my rounded tummy. “Two hundred and ten pounds! I gotta credit my Crossfit membership. One hour a day, five days a week!”

He rolls his eyes. _Oh Lord_ , he's saying to himself. _One of_ _ **these**_ _guys._

“Facial recognition might have some trouble with him,” the Razorback behind him says.

I don't know either of these guys. We're taking the road through the Meadowlands to get out of the city, which means the local Officers for the security checkpoints are drawn from the nearby Rainforest District Precinct. Less likelihood of me being recognized here. The hardest part will be bluffing my way through using a fake ID Savage had made for me. He'd done his research, searched through official DMV records of tigers who have facial structures similar enough to mine. A little black dye to alter my coat pattern, and the tests he ran showed a 76% match using the ZPD's recognition software when you account for the supposed weight loss. Good enough for most mammals.

Can't help but be a bit miffed about the paint job though. You do _not_ change a tiger's stripes.

“Are you carrying any weapons?” he asks.

“Standard tranq gun for my protection in the glove compartment, Sir. But it's registered.”

“We're going to have to do a quick search of your car,” Beauchomp says with a nod. “And please exit the vehicle and place your paws on the roof. I'm gonna have to pat you down.”

“Yeah, I heard about the protocol. Hey, you ever think about joining the Crossfit lifestyle? For every mammal I help sign up I get a free month.”

He pats me down more even quickly as the Razorbacks sift through my car.

Once we're a couple miles down the road I pull over to the shoulder. Unzipping my jacket I pull out the foam belly I'd been wearing to cover up the two bunnies I'm smuggling out, along with the ZIA weaponry I'd taped to my body. Their little paws and feet dig into my tight abdomen as they scramble out of my jacket, gasping for breath.

“You know Kaplan, you could stand to use a _lot_ less Stag Body Spray,” Savage coughs, sprawling onto the passenger seat.

“Oh leave him alone,” Judy pants. “It was _your_ idea to cover up our scent with that after all.”

“Well as it stands they didn't have any dedicated sniffers working that checkpoint,” I say, rolling the window down a bit. It wasn't that bad feeling a couple bunnies scuttling around on my body trying to find a comfortable spot to hide, but it sure got muggy over time.

Sniffers wouldn't have been much help against the Sanguinis anyway. Not with the scent mask the Praetors use. Still, the ZPD might as well play it safe.

There aren't many cars on the road as we coast along. The Meadowlands are prime real estate for grazers, with its broad open plains broken up now and again by small hamlets. It's all we've got ahead of us for the next couple hours, and part of me wonders if I should turn on the radio. The mood in the car is pretty tense though, and I think better of it.

Danny must be sick with worry by now. I've been feeling just fine these past few days, but each time I'd tried to take the car he'd insisted that it was still too early. I can't imagine how many frantic texts from him are gonna pop up when I check my phone.

I hadn't hesitated when Jack contacted me for this. I was one of the few he could trust, he'd said. I still get myself worked up into a fury when I think about that night Danny had almost been killed. His wounds have closed up for the most part, but it'll be another week or so before he can get back to work.

Judy perches up in her seat a little, gazing at the fields of wheat as we drive past just as the sun begins to descend towards the horizon ahead of us.

I barely notice it now but I remember, vaguely, how Danny had stared out the window just like that when we first drove up here ten years ago. Sure the bullet train through Sahara Square is the more scenic route, but there's a quiet beauty to the Meadowlands on its own. These broad fields seem like they stretch out past the horizon, and when the wind whips against the wheat just right it looks like waves cresting over a golden sea.

It takes a lot to get Danny to shut his damn muzzle, especially as excited as he was about moving to the Big City from our little town of Catscreek. But that day long ago, with me driving us here in our old clunker of a pickup, he'd just rested his cheek in his paw and stared out the window.

“ _Hey Benjy?_ ” he'd said outta the blue. He'd been so quiet that I thought he'd fallen asleep.

“ _What's up?_ ”

“ _Pull over. I need to stretch my legs._ ”

I should've known that he'd wanted to do more than that. But I was twenty-three then, and once he coaxed me into the the waist-high grass I was putty in his paws. I had more libido than sense at that age, but even now it's still a nice memory... with our fur kissed by the warm summer breezes and the feeling of his hot mouth on me.

I knew he was ruining me. Danny knew all my sweet spots, all the little triggers that made me vulnerable. No tigress would ever be able to make me feel the things he could make me feel. It wasn't healthy for either of us, but in that moment I just couldn't care. There was something beautiful and primal about doing it out in the open, with the open and cloudless sky over us and the sun on our backs. We'd seeded the field together, and trotted back to the car, smiling.

“Feeling homesick, Judy?” I ask.

Despite what's ahead of us she manages to give a little smile. “Not really. Bunnyburrow is mostly orchards and vegetable crops. Still... it _is_ nice to be in the countryside again.”

“Yeah, real quiet out here,” I say. “Not much to do or see. A few harvest fairs, the Pumpkin Patch Festival now that Howloween's around the corner...”

“Yeah...” Judy finishes quietly, pressing her paw against the window. It doesn't take much to figure out what she's thinking. When she and Nick came out to us about their relationship she would gush about all the places Nick had been taking her to see. The fox really knows all the best corners in Zootopia to bring a date. Chances were he might've been planning on taking her out to one of these farms this year.

Gradually the cultivated fields vanish, and we're driving through wild grassland. The road is less well-maintained here, and some sparse tree cover begins to dot the land. Red and yellow leaves drift along the windshield now and again, like the last few embers of autumn fire.

“You'll see a fence about half a mile down this way,” Jack says as he checks his GPS.

Sure enough an old metal fence blocks off the side road here. Anyone driving past would've barely noticed it, or if they had they would've thought that it led to some dilapidated hut owned by some crazed redneck, as remote as this place is. With the car parked on the side of the road I step out along with Jack.

“Twenty minutes early...” Jack says as he picks the lock on the chain. “Perfect. Once we get to the Farm proper it'll be about ten minutes to six... a decent enough head start to get into position and wait for Wilde.”

And yet not so early that Frisk would get suspicious thinking we were booby trapping the place. Rufinius had always been one step ahead of Jack... if he was able to sniff out that we'd come here much earlier he might just have Wilde bail on this confrontation.

Once we've got the gate open we return to the car. From there, we drive deep into the woods and cross the line to ZIA-monitored territory.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

When I first heard it described it as “the Farm” I hadn't expected it to look anything like the farms I'd known growing up. Still, it's a bit of a surprise to come into a large clearing with long-abandoned solar panels surrounded by tall grass.

“Why's there such a broad clearing?” I ask, perching up on my toes. It must be a couple acres at least, right in the middle of the woods.

“Used to be a nip field here,” Jack explains, gesturing at the grassy field. I gaze out over the tall grass and notice a few moss-covered stumps that look like they'd once been fence posts. “That is, until the ZIA burned it.”

Not wanting to give away how many of us there are, we'd hidden the car behind some bushes a couple hundred feet back, and now we're circling around the field to get to the entrance. Wouldn't do to trample through the grass and leave signs that we have a tiger with us.

On the far end of the clearing, hidden by the grass, is a steel door built into a hilly mound. It looks more like a doomsday bunker than anything agriculture-related.

The digital lock at the heavy steel door seems to be newly installed by the ZIA, because Jack types a code into the keypad before leaning in so the scanner can read his eye.

“We'd removed anything sensitive from here decades ago,” Jack continues as Benjy helps pull the door open. The Sanguinis must've had some large henchmammals helping to manage the Farm back in the day, because there's enough clearance that Benjy doesn't need to duck when we enter. “We've kept the place under lockdown since. Some of the solar cells are still working, so there should be enough energy to fuel the lights at least.”

We descend down the stairs leading to the facility below, switching on our chest-mounted flashlights. By my best guess the rounded ceiling is about four feet underground.

We stop off at the control room, where Jack opens a metal fusebox, flicking a few switches. The fluorescent lights bloom overhead, and he locks up the fusebox as well as the door to the control room once we leave.

Long corridors stretch out to either side, plain and featureless. It's as if they'd just buried a bunch of large concrete tubes. It's cold and utilitarian, so unlike the plush and richly decorated Twilight Cathedral with its wallpaper, its classical tapestries and paintings and chandeliers.

“I've seen bunny warrens before, believe it or not,” Benjy murmurs, turning off his flashlight. “Catscreek has a few bunny families in the area, and normally a family warren is twice as big, isn't it.”

“When you don't have to build any of the standard comforts for bunnies the floorplan gets much smaller,” I say, also making a quick estimate as to the place's size. Jack had pulled up a blueprint earlier of course, but it's very different from standing in the middle of it. “I doubt there are any living rooms or play rooms or dining commons here.”

“Some of the larger rooms were dedicated nip greenhouses,” Jack explains, checking his watch. “The pens for the bunnies hold only a hundred or so.”

“I would've expected way more than that,” I murmur, glancing through the open archways as we pass them by. Sure enough there's a lot of greenhouse equipment, and what looks to be a chow hall for mammals larger than bunnies. “My own family is three times larger. And Rufinius keeps at least four... four _breeds_ here? There's gotta be way more than that, if he's... _experimenting_.”

Breeds. Experimenting. The words sound so disgusting in context.

“The Sanguinis can't be expected to keep and raise thousands of bunnies in one facility,” Jack explains. “The cost of feeding and housing all of them would eat up any profits, and most of them wouldn't be premium enough quality for market as bed slaves anyways. Even if you use the castoffs for manual labor there's gonna be a saturation point for value.”

We stop at one of the few closed doors in the compound, and Jack opens it so we can peek through. It's a medical bay, though with a pair of stirrups on the recliner seat for a patient to prop her feet on.

“Frisk keeps things nice and efficient thanks to the revolution in genetics thirty years ago,” Jack continues. His voice is so strangely casual. “In vitro fertilization. They prep the eggs in petri dishes, and DNA-test the developing embryos. The ones that show the least genetic potential... they don't implanted. They run tests again later on with tissue samples from amniocentesis, and the second screening process means some of the fetuses don't get to come to term.”

“I'm... sorry I asked,” Benjy says, mildly nauseated. I feel a little sick myself, realizing that was why Jack only had one brother that he knew of. Poor Jack. Poor Andy. And his poor _mother_...

“Don't get emotional on me, Hopps,” Jack says with a cool sense of detachment. Though was there a hint of teasing in his voice? “We need to focus.”

“What's _wrong_ with you?” I huff. I really don't know what Skye ever saw in him. “You know it's perfectly _normal_ to feel sympathy, right?”

“I'm not a normal rabbit.”

He's trying to remain cool and detached, but Jack's not fooling me. I've seen too many of his faces to trust the one he's wearing now. I'm starting to second-guess my decision to come with him, but honestly, what else could I have done? Gone back home to sulk? Run back to the ZPD and told them I'd just had contact with Jack and that he and Benjy were going rogue?

He might've loathed the comparison, but Jack really is a lot like Nick. Both of them are so hard to read. It's so hard to understand their motives, much less what they're feeling.

Bunnies don't keep many secrets from one another. Living in such close company, it's just about impossible to hide anything. Trust comes naturally to us. Some call it naive, but the way I see it, expecting the best of others is what makes us civilized. We're no longer meek, frightened prey animals huddling in the tall grass, afraid of every rustle in the night. We've evolved. We've learned to be honest with each other and with ourselves.

So I'm not used to being suspicious, especially of another rabbit. But there's such a hard edge to him, something that Skye had implied she'd been able to soften up once, long ago.

Jack was right. He's not a normal bunny.

We stop off at one small room near the end of the corridor. Unlike the heavy industrial doors elsewhere, this one is wooden. Jack's paw pauses a moment when he rests it on the knob, and he takes in a breath before he turns it and pushes the door open.

For a long moment Jack stares into the dim little room. After all the cold concrete and metal doors, it's strange to see what finally looks like the inside of a farmhouse, though one that's seen better days. The wallpaper is faded and peeling, and the hardwood floor is scuffed and scratched, particularly close to the door like someone had been desperate to dig their way out. A rickety old bed is in one corner. The window beside it is walled off with iron bars, and in the other corner sitting on the ground is a small stereo.

As a cop I've seen plenty of prison cells, but those don't try to pretend they're anything but what the are. There's something haunting about the room before me, the little creature comforts like poor gilding... peeling away and revealing the cold black iron beneath.

“Let's get into position,” Jack says. “We make our stand here.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

They're here.

I didn't get to become a Junior Ranger Scout like I'd hoped as a kit, but it didn't take much knowledge of the outdoors to notice the broken twigs and disturbed shrubbery. Oh they'd tried to hide their tracks of course, and if I hadn't been on the lookout for the signs I might've missed 'em. The real question is how many others Agent Stripes had been able to recruit.

The sterile fluorescent lighting overhead makes me kinda nauseous. The air in the compound is cold and stale, though I can almost make out the scent of bunny. There's something a little sharper too... a thick floral-herby chemical smell that reminds me of locker room showers. Stag body spray? Doesn't seem like Savage. Doubt it's Elkredge, so top of the list for those who have the motive to try and capture me would probably be Benjy.

Taking a deep breath, I head down the corridor.

I'm not much of an experienced sniffer, but after Gramps explained the layout of the compound it makes sense that Savage would want me to meet him there. The smell of bunny and Stag body spray seem to be getting stronger as I head down this direction too.

I take a moment to check my front pocket. I must've checked for it three times before I left the safehouse, but it's one of those things you do to reassure yourself when you're scared. And I'm pretty damn scared. Not just about the fact that Stripes is probably looking to put a few extra bullet holes in me, but the fact that Judy is most likely here and I'm gonna have to face her after all that'd happened.

It's my secret weapon. My last resort to escape with my life if things go south. I'm just hoping it _works_.

And there he is.

Jack Savage is just staring at me from down the hall. He doesn't say a word as I approach him, just stands there with his hands in his pockets. I wonder if his sidearm has live rounds, or if he's using tranqs. If Judy is here I'm hoping she's talked him into trying to take me in alive, so chances are it's the latter. But after everything he's been through I wouldn't discount him being out for blood.

“So,” he says, crossing his arms. “Nick Wilde. Or do you go by 'Frisk' now?”

“Jack Savage,” I say, just as coolly. “Where are the others? I know it's not just you.”

“I could say the same,” he replies. “I know Rufinius wouldn't send you in alone.”

“Judy is here, isn't she?” I wanna see her.”

“Yeah...” she says from behind me, “I'm here.”

I turn around to face her, right down the barrel of the tranq gun she's aiming straight at me. She's so cool. So composed. Every inch the cop she'd trained to be. There isn't an ounce of sadness in her voice, not the slightest bit of sentiment. It's not like I wanted her to cry when we met again like this. I just... wanted to see _something_ at least. A trembling paw. A sniffle. A pair of dewy, violet eyes. Some hint that part of her still loves me.

“Hey Carrots.”

“Don't call me that, Nick...” she says sternly. “Not now.”

Slowly I put my paws up in the air. “Hey, that's fair. Carrots... Judy... I wish I could explain myself, I really do, but-”

“Mammals died because of you, Nick! Our fellow officers! Our _friends_!”

“I know. I know and I'm _sorry_...”

In my mind I'm thinking of who might just be on the list of the dead. Even though I only knew a small number of those on the task force I'd gotten to recognize the faces of those from the other Precincts. What'd be worse, I wonder? Knowing the names of all those who died in the Twilight Cathedral and have their faces haunt me in my dreams? Or not knowing, and always being haunted by the fact that I'd never be able to mourn them properly?

“Shut up, Wilde. You're not gonna smooth-talk your way out of this one. You're coming with us,” Savage says, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at me too. “Now no more stalling. I know you're trying to give your cronies a chance to get the drop on us.”

“H-hey... there's no need to get violent now...” I gulp. Crap, Savage really _does_ have live ammo on him.

“Put the gun down, Agent Savage. I'm handling this,” Judy takes out a pair of pawcuffs.

There's nothing I'd love more than to surrender. To just have this all end in the safety of a cell at the ZPD. Wouldn't be my first time, and I know how to talk my way around the other cellmates. But frankly, these two have much more to worry about than lil' old me.

And that's when I see it, through the window of the room that Judy had just stepped out from.

“J-Judy...” I reach out to her. “Judy, please come towards me...”

“Don't listen to him,” Savage hisses. “He's trying to get in your head!”

“Judy please...” I beg, beckoning her forward, “ _Please_ get _over_ here.”

Her eyes widen. Her nose begins to twitch. Yet she still stands firm, her finger beginning to gently pull the trigger of her gun. She's scared of me. I mean, she has every reason to be. But that doesn't make it hurt any less.

“On the ground, Wilde!” Savage shouts, “Hopps, don't you take a single step closer to him! I _will_ shoot him!”

“Stand down, Jack!” she shouts. “We're doing this _my_ way!”

“Judy...” my voice cracks. “Judy, please, you're in dan-”

The overhead lights cut off completely. Smythe has done his job, and the corridor has been plunged into total darkness.

My night vision barely has time to adjust when the bomb goes off.

The moment the explosion roars through the bedroom time begins to crawl at an agonizing pace. In the golden light of the flames I can see the iron grate covering the window being torn from the fragmenting wall. I can see the lopsided bed beside it shredding into clouds of moth-eaten fluff. The blast wave throws Judy into the air, and for an instant her gaze meet mine. There's this look of pure shock on her face as she spins, fire dancing in those beautiful violet eyes of hers, until her body slams against the opposite wall. Judy's skull striking the concrete makes a terrible cracking sound, and she falls limp to the floor.

“ _Judy!!!_ ” I cry out, scrambling towards her. For a moment my own voice sounds muted in my ears, deafened as I am by the explosion.

Despite the shock I can still hear the dull sounds of gunshots, and I feel a bullet just barely graze my side as I duck down to protect her. I know for a fact that Agent Stripes had better aim than that, but it's not just the sudden darkness or the blast that's thrown him off balance. No, it's the massive polar bear wearing a pair of night-vision goggles knocking aside the broken masonry as he pushes through the gap in the wall.

With a heavy roar, Brutus charges at Jack just as the bunny flicks on his shoulder-mounted flashlight.

Any other time I might've savored the shocked look on his face... that stupid, slack-jawed expression as a thousand pounds of polar bear descends on him. He fires again and again, but between his little bunny-sized pea shooter and Brutus' thick hide it's useless, and Jack knows it.

“ _Pleasebealivepleasebealive..._ ” I whimper, cradling Judy's head. I can't lose another bunny in my life. Not again. Please, not again!

When she rolls her head and lets out a little groan I almost kiss her in relief.

Glancing behind me, I see Brutus taking a swipe at Jack, when all of a sudden a familiar tiger spins out from the corner. His paw is balled up into a massive fist, and with one heavy haymaker swing he cracks it straight into Brutus' jaw. The sound of those knuckles striking bone is like a thunderclap, and even though Benjy is on the losing end of their size difference, the blow throws his opponent against the concrete wall.

I'd be amazed if that hadn't just snapped Brutus' neck.

I've seen the big guy in the boxing ring. I've seen him take down mammals a weight class above him. Most of the time he's cool and collected, knowing when to pull his punches. Now however there's murder in tiger's eyes, and he grips Brutus in a chokehold with arms the size of tree trunks like he's trying to rip the bear's head off.

Okay, things are getting way too heated in here.

Scooping Judy up and grabbing her weapon with the other paw, I race down the hall, my long tail flicking behind me.

 


	44. And Now We've Come Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy steps up, Sebastian shares a nice warm hug, Judy has her medicine, Jack speaks to an old acquaintance.

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

My snarls of pain ring through he compound as the polar bear rakes his claws over my arms. Again and again he throws the both of us against the wall, crushing me between his thick upper body and solid concrete. When my skull cracks against the wall a burst of nauseating colors explodes in my head. With us fighting in pitch darkness, the effect is even more blinding.

I'm not a violent mammal. Not really. It'd taken me a long time to get over that barrier of self-restraint that made me keep pulling my punches in the ring. But when that polar bear charged at Agent Savage I had to make a split-second decision, and I knew instinctively that the tranq gun I brought wouldn't have been sufficient for a mammal of that size. It'd take out a large cat like we'd been expecting, but a _polar bear_? Not a chance.

I should've listened to Savage when he told us to bring live ammo. Live ammo works on mammals of all sizes, he'd said.

But like a total rookie I'd balked at the idea. That sorta stuff might've been necessary in other countries, but this was Zootopia, man. Our violent crime rate is so low the firing range is practically archaic. We're more civilized than that, I'd thought.

Besides, I'd seen and heard too much gun violence when I was a kid in Tigria.

I've fought larger mammals before. Polar bears, even, so I know how to judge a mammal's brute strength by his size and build. This guy though is tougher than any other polar bear I've fought in the ring. There's something wild about his movements. Savage, even- just like I'd seen at the Lone Digger with those mammals blasted out of their minds on Blue. It'd been so tough to take them down even though they were smaller than me, and right now I realize that this guy is probably on the same shit, because he's seriously going buck wild.

The bear's massive paws claw at my forearm, drawing burning runnels deep into my flesh. In the darkness he tries to reach back to rake those talons along my face. I try to ignore the smell of my own blood filling the air, keeping my arm tight as I crush his throat in a sleeper hold. Despite my bulk he flails back and forth, trying to fling me off of him like I'm just some cub riding an adult's shoulders.

With him in my grip though the size difference doesn't matter. With all the pressure I'm putting on his trachea, his carotid arteries being compressed and the blood flow choked off from his brain, he can't possibly last much longer.

I hope.

A smaller paw grips mine then. For a moment I think it might be Judy, or even Agent Savage. But no, it's not small enough to be a bunny, more like a-

I yank my paw back just as the blade stabs into my forearm. Belting out a snarl of pain, I let go of the bear just as I feel the weight of the smaller mammal land on my shoulder. It's so light and sudden that it's taken me by surprise, like a spider brushing against my cheek. Instinctively I recoil, trying to knock the fucker off when something whizzes just an inch from my face. My paw connects though, and I hear a light, almost inaudible thump of something landing on the ground a couple yards away.

Now that I have to space to do so, I fumble at the flashlight on my shoulder. A broad circle of light blooms in front of me, and in the middle of it there's a black fox with a scarred face.

I remember the first time I'd gone swimming. Though bathhouses weren't uncommon even in rural Tigria, the slightly more upscale neighborhood we'd visited once had a community pool. Only a couple families were in there. The sight of that broad stretch of cold water... it was just so foreign to me that I was scared of getting anywhere near it. That is, until my uncle picked me up and tossed me in.

The feeling of being tossed, hanging in the air for this terrible instant before feeling the jolt of hitting the glassy surface, of being immersed head to toe in a chill that bites through your fur... that same shock is what it feels like right now, when I stare into the fox's dead gray eyes.

And that's when I feel it, the warm trickle down my cheek. Touching it with my fingers I pull away, staring at the blood staining my pawpads.

Smythe. The one that Agent Savage had told me about. The assassin who'd hilted his dagger deep into Danny's belly, nearly killing him. I can still remember that crazed drive to the hospital: all those red lights I'd run through. I remember the smell of antiseptic, the beep of heart rate monitors, those hideous beige hospital walls. And there on the bed was Danny. My stupid little brother, who'd nearly been killed by this bastard.

No, it's no longer a cold chill that freezes me up now. It's white-hot fury.

When he lunges at me with his knives it takes every ounce of agility I'd developed in the ring to dodge those poisoned blades. Shit, how much of that stuff had gotten into my system through the little kiss he'd just planted on my cheek?

But as Smythe comes at me, the polar bear I'd just been trying to disable picks himself up. He readjusts his night vision goggles, and storms down the hall after Nick and Judy and Savage.

“Hey, wh-!” I start, but Smythe makes another dash at me. This time though I stumble slightly, and the side of my jeans is opened to the cold air.

It takes a moment for the pain to register. Those knives of his are so razor-sharp I don't even feel the cuts when they first bite into my skin.

For a moment I curse myself for letting the bear slip away. I'm the muscle in this operation. I should've been the one keeping him pinned. Now though I've got some fucking assassin to deal with, and he's got years more experience in paw-to-paw combat than me. Not to mention way more experience in killing.

Still... I can't deny it. If I have to face off a different opponent, this matchup is fine by me.

My muscles coil into that half-tensed readiness as I unholster my tranq gun.

This one's for Danny, fucker.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Sebastian Dusk** _

 

“Thank you, Dr. Allister,” the brindled vixen says with a smile as she leaves the doctor's office. Tatyana... that's her name, gives me a nervous glance before spinning on her heels and walking in the opposite direction. Though she has the grace of a dancer her movements are a little too polished, like she's focusing on not running away from me.

I chuckle. My oh my... what _do_ the vixens have to fear from me, I wonder?

“Rhona!” I say cheerfully as I burst into her office. She gives a start as she turns around from her clipboard.

“Sebastian!” she huffs. “How many times must I tell yeh t'be a little more subdued when yer in th' medical ward?”

“Goodness, goodness! You know I place high value on my bedside manner!”

“Save it fer yer own 'patients,' aye?” she sniffs, turning back to her notes.

“Speaking of, my dear... I just saw Tatyana leaving in quite the rush.”

“She was terrified because she saw yer bloody smile, she did. Are yeh truly so oblvious t' the effect yeh have on others?”

“On the contrary! I very much depend on my reputation when it comes to fulfilling my duties. A good dose of fear is most excellent at getting mammals to become more agreeable,” I say, slipping behind Rhona and wrapping my arms around her middle.

When Rhona first joined us she was fresh from medical school, and had come to repay the debt she owed the Prince for opening that particular door to her. She'd been so young then, this delicate slip of a thing, and still unaccustomed to the work that had to be done. Quite limber, though.

With me as the adopted son of the Prince and Rhona as the adopted daughter, we were the backup plan for continuing the legacy of the Vulpes Sanguinis. Not that we could ever measure up to the true bloodline of the Frisks, of course. Yet there is something to be said about the complex chemistry between us.

If the Prince had hoped the two of us would bond over our shared interest in mammalian physiology however, I must say that he was disappointed in that respect. Oh I had presented my charming old self quite stupendously, but it hadn't been long before her attitude toward me soured somewhat. Oh she would still lay on her back for me begrudgingly, but most days she would give me the cold shoulder like an angry sister.

Still, she grew out of her poor attitude for the most part. I consider her as close a companion as a female could be.

“Shouldn't yeh be listenin' in on th' fight?” she asks.

“Oh it's a rousing brawl I'm sure, but it's not as if we can do anything from where we are,” I purr into her ear. “Besides, I have much more interesting company here. How _are_ our vixens faring, anyway?”

“A touch o' mornin' sickness, but it's quite normal, few weeks along as they are.”

“Mmm...” my tail flicks back and forth behind me. I breathe in deep of Rhona's scent... jasmine and roses today, just the way I like her. “I must say, all this discussion of fertility has got me thinking. The two of us should try again for a kit.”

“Unfortunately that would involve yeh bein' inside me again, and I'm not quite in the mood.”

“You've never complained before.”

“Oh I 'ave, just not where yeh'd listen.”

I laugh at that. “Oh Rhona, as salacious as ever.”

“Must be th' brogue.”

“Mmm. Indeed,” I muse, though I still hold her close. Her body is so warm, and her scent so enticing. When is her next heat, I wonder?

“Tell me, my dear...” I say as I kiss the side of her cheek, and she lets out a weary sigh. “Why _are_ the vixens afraid of me? Everyone should know very well that I'm completely harmless unless they've done something wrong. _Have_ the vixens been naughty, my dear?”

“I think th' _lack_ of naughtiness on their part 'as been th' real problem,” she sighs. “ _In vitro_ fertilization is hardly the best option.”

“Well _someone_ has been naughty,” I chuckle. “Which means _someone_ should be afraid.”

To her credit Rhona doesn't react much. She simply pauses for a moment as she continues pretending to look over her notes.

“Aye?”

“Yes,” I smirk. “Oh _my_ , yes. Because I've looked through the hormone panels, and I've found the most _interesting_ discrepancy. You see, the vixen's estrogen and progesterone levels have been a hair too high in the weeks leading up to their pregnancies. A little bit off the bell curve would be acceptable, but among all three? No, no, no... that won't do.”

“What're yeh gettin' at, Sebastian?”

It's faint, the shiver running up Rhona's spine, just like the first time I'd entered her and broke through her virgin sweetness.

“Why it's obvious, isn't it? Poor Nicholas Wilde _isn't_ an expectant daddy after all! Because someone's been administering contraceptives this whole time,” I press my cheek to Rhona's, and my tone takes on a playful air. “And _someone_ has been faking the most recent hormone panels to show elevated levels of vCG to make it _look_ like the Three Graces are in the family way. All while poor Nicky... the very widdle last of the Frisk line, has been sent to his possible death.

“Now...” I coo, “I wonder who could _that_ be?”

Rhona Allister makes a brave attempt when she grabs for the scissors on the counter, but by then my knife has already sunk into her middle.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

There's a ringing in my ears, and spots dance across my vision when I open my eyes. The room I'm in is completely dark, and the cot I'm lying on is a mess of moth-eaten sheets. It takes a moment for it to all come back to me, and when it does I let out a groan.

“Not again...”

Caught in an explosion for the second time. And again, in an underground Frisk base.

I raise my paw to my forehead... there's a faint, lingering warmth there. I remember, vaguely, my limp body bouncing in someone's grip as he carried me to safety. He'd set me down in this bed, and planted a kiss between my eyes before vanishing with a flick of his long, bushy tail. Not that I could see it with the lights knocked out, but I knew so well the feel of those paws and the warmth of his muzzle as he turned and ran...

_Nick..._

I feel for the flashlight on my shoulder and flick it on. The room I'm in is a small cell with two pairs of bunk beds. It's a cramped little cell, even for bunnies, but I'm guessing that comfort wasn't a high priority here.

Beside me on the mattress is my tranq gun. I blink as I look down at it. Nick had left me my weapon? No, it was more than that. He'd actually taken the time and effort to pick it up when he was fleeing with me. In that split-second he could've been shot... wounded or killed in the crossfire. Did he really just increase the risk to his own life just so I could have something to protect myself with?

I pick up the gun and approach the door. It's a heavy steel thing, but it swings open on hinges that could use some grease after all these years. Unlike last time Nick hadn't locked me in a vault for safekeeping.

What did it mean? _Did_ it mean something? Or was trying to figure out Nick's motives some sort of trap?

No, I can't let sentimentality get in my way. Before anything else I need to remember that I'm a cop, and right now there's a perp I need to apprehend.

Sorry, Nick. You _might_ be trying to help, but we're not partners anymore.

I poke my head out past the door. I can hear snarls coming from down the hall, the sounds of tranq darts being fired.

Checking that I'd turned off the safety on my gun, I race down to hall to join the fight.

While the layout of the compound had been a simple grid pattern, the lack of proper lighting had turned it into a labyrinth. I wish I'd paid more attention to the map that Jack had laid out for us now. At the time our plan had only been focused on a small section of the place. We needed to stick together, keep Nick and the henchmammals from picking us off one by one. _Especially_ if we needed to retreat to safety and hide out in the vault until the ZIA arrived. Now though I have no idea where I am, and by the shouts and snarls ringing on opposite sides of the facility it's clear that Benjy and Jack had gotten separated too.

But then all thoughts of lending assistance to either Jack or Benjy vanishes when I realize I'm not alone.

My ears are still ringing from the explosion, so I don't notice it at first. There's the breathing. The vibrations through the floor. And the warm breath that stinks of fish that'd been left out in the sun on a hot summer's day.

It's only when he's almost on top of me that I turn around and gape at the massive polar bear who'd been following me.

My jaw drops. My paws tremble on my dart gun. The sickly green lenses of his night vision goggles gleam like the multicolored eyes of a spider, and I let out a squeak as I aim and pull the trigger again and again. The darts embed themselves deep in the polar bear's body, and the few that'd penetrated his thick hide might as well have been toothpicks for all the good they're doing. He pulls them out like roadside burrs that'd gotten caught in his clothes, tossing them aside as he makes a grab for me.

I'd taken down enormous perps before, but that was only through quick thinking and by using my environment. Maybe if I could get a full view of the hall I'd be able to think of something... find something I can bounce off to add some recoil to a kick, a hole I can scramble through that'll leave his head or paw stuck when he tries to get at me. But my flashlight only gives me a limited field of view, and trying to plan something out while dodging those massive paws is already too much for me.

Unless...

Turning around to face him, I suck in a sharp breath. When he makes one hard swipe I hop straight onto his wrist and scramble up along his arm. That huge mouth drops open in a look of shock at this little rabbit scurrying up his sleeve, and gripping his collar I pop my feet out and kick him hard in the face.

The blow knocks his night-vision goggles half off, and in the moment of confusion I press my gun into his neck and pull the trigger. He might be huge, but it might not matter if I'm lucky enough to hit an artery and the tranq floods straight into his brain.

When his massive paw slams down on me it's as if he's trying to kill a fly that'd landed on his collar. Stars explode in my vision, the breath's been completely crushed out of me. The world is a rippling field of light and shadow, and all of a sudden I'm dangling, staring down into the hungry face of a _truly_ pissed-off polar bear. The tranq gun dangles limply from my fingers.

The bear readjusts his goggles, muzzle wrinkling into an angry growl.

In all this time he hadn't said a single word. No taunts or threats, no demands to surrender if I wanted to live. His mouth opens wide, and I stare down into a moist cavern of pink flesh and yellowed teeth. His breath is warm and humid and stinks of rotting fish as he lowers me towards his face.

Wait, no. No! He can't possibly eat me! He _can't_!

My scream echoes down the halls, and I thrash uselessly in his grip. The tears trail down my cheeks in hot streams.

As I inch closer to those fangs I can _actually_ see my life flashing before my eyes. I'm bouncing down paw-in-paw with my parents at the Carrot Days Festival, in a little police uniform my older sisters had helped me sew. There's my litter... Cory and Stacey and Dixie and Clover and Buster... all of us learning how to make pancakes for when we take over the kitchen shift. My first time seeing the City when I ride through on the bullet train: the hot sun and sandy stretches of Sahara Square, the pure white snow of Tundratown, the lush greenery of the Rainforest District...

And Nick. Smiling at me with the sun lighting up his fur, his green eyes warm like he'd missed an old friend. And in his paw he's holding that carrot pen.

He'd shown me so much of the City when I was still new to the area, and we'd been so happy being on patrol together. Every day was a new adventure, whether it was chasing down a purse-snatcher, or going out on a romantic date, or even just staying in for a bad movie as he held me from behind.

There'd been a time when I'd thought I'd be able to spend the rest of my life with Nick. Even committed myself to the idea of adopting a fox kit someday. A sweet little tod or vixen. I always thought I was too young to even begin to think of becoming a mom, but Nick... being a father would come naturally to him, I'd thought. I'd loved him more than anyone else in the world, and part of me still does.

But now there's only one thing I can do.

My paw fumbles at my pants pocket. Jack had pressed it on me, and I couldn't just toss it in a bin not knowing where it might end up. I'd tucked it away and tried to forget it, but now the cyanide capsule is my only salvation.

Deep breath now, Judy. You've got no other choice.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

And now we've come full circle.

I've got my gun in one paw, and Wilde's necktie in the other. My heel is planted right between his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. I'm yanking back, strangling him as he chokes out the names of all those who'd died because of him: the ones who'd died in the explosions in the Twilight Cathedral, or murdered by snipers and Blue-addled henchmammals in the streets above. His paws grip the loop of his tie, and the pathetic whimpers spilling from his lips are sweet as honeyed wine.

Judy had wanted to bring him in alive. To face a trial. After all his tricks and treacheries though, that sort of thinking is frankly naive. So I'm sorry, Officer Hopps, but this has to end here.

“Turn around, Wilde...” I say finally, kicking him hard in the ribs. “I want to look you in the eye for this.”

“Y-you don't understand...” he whimpers, looking up to me. I'd really worked him over. He's bleeding from his mouth and nose, and that eye of his would be getting pretty swollen if he was gonna live long enough for the bruising to kick in. His fur is in disarray, and his jade green eyes look up at me, pleading.

“You're a shit fighter, you know that?” I snort. And to think he'd been able to knock me out when I'd first raided his apartment. Well, in all fairness to me the sleep deprivation hadn't worked in my favor.

“Please... Savage... you gotta believe me, I didn't want it to happen. I tried my best to help the ZPD!”

“Bullshit!” I snap, cracking the butt of my gun over his skull. “You're a traitor to the uniform. You've consorted with the Sanguinis. You stood by and watched while I was _tortured_ and you kept my brother as your _**plaything**_! You don't get to play the innocent here!!!”

“You don't know the whole story...” he coughs, spitting out a wad of saliva and blood.

“And you don't get to tell it,” I smirk. “I don't care about your excuses, Wilde. And I don't care about procedure and protocol. All that went out the window when you decided to lure a hundred of us into a deathtrap. But I'll tell you what: as a last favor to your girlfriend, I'll make sure it''s nice and quick.”

I aim my gun right up against his forehead. “Now, Wilde. Do you have any last words?”

For a moment he stares at me, his eyes bright and dewy. Would it be more pleading? More excuses? Or another fresh insult at my expense?

“Help me, Dad.”

I blink.

“What?”

Just then I hear the scratchy sound of a two-way radio from Wilde's coat pocket.

“ _Agent Jack Savage. This is Jacob Frisk. I'd like to ask you to spare my son's life._ ”

The blood in my veins turns to ice when I hear that voice. A voice I hadn't heard in twenty years, one I'd associated with the sound of a lone gunshot in the woods, the spray of blood, of Andy's screams and my mother's blank eyes. I remember the day and the night I'd waited in that log, covered in mud and staying so still that every joint screamed in agony when I found the will to move again.

My mother's body.

The blood.

The ants.

Wilde stays completely frozen when I move in and snatch the radio out of his coat pocket.

“Well...” I hiss, and for the hundredth time I loathe the natural sweetness of my bunny-voice. It's too cute to sound threatening. “Jacob Frisk. We finally get to speak. The last time I saw you was in Cairo.”

“ _Agent Savage... I know what you want. I would like to request we parley, right here and now._ ”

“You don't get to set the terms, _Frisk_ ,” I snarl. “I'm not going to let my life's work be upended because you think you can try your bullshit fox stuff on me!”

 _“This isn't about Nicholas, Agent Savage. And this isn't about the Vulpes Sanguinis. We both know that what you really want is me. For what I've done. For who I killed when you were just eight years old._ ”

“Shut up.”

“ _I am willing to surrender myself into your custody in exchange for my son's life._ ”

“Shut up!” I snap. “You say one thing about that again and I swear to GOD I will cut off your son's balls!”

For a moment Jacob Frisk is silent on the other end, like he's mulling over his next words with great care.

“ _You have a safehouse outside the borders of Zootopia don't you, Agent Savage?_ ” he asks calmly. “ _I'm betting somewhere nice and remote. I'm guessing you've prepared a soundproofed room in there, a surgical table with leather straps and a drain in the floor..._ ”

I'm quivering in fury. A red haze is creeeping along the edges of my vision.

“ _You've prepared it with one mammal in mind. One mammal you've waited twenty years to capture. You've spent the last two decades dreaming of what you'll do to him after everything he'd done to ruin your life. I understand, Agent Savage. I_ _ **do**_ _._ ”

 _Mom_... I think to myself. _Andy_...

“ _Please. Just spare my son's life, and I'll give you my oath as a Frisk that I will surrender myself to you, and you can finally put that room to use._ ”

For a moment I let the feelings inside me clash. Anger and sorrow for my family. Joy that I finally have a Frisk at my mercy. I give it until the count of five before I let all the emotion drain from me. There is no love then. No hate. Just purpose, cold and distilled and sure, sharp and straight as a spearpoint.

“You foxes think you're so smart...” I say into the radio. “But you don't know what I really want. All these years you thought I've wanted to kill you, Prodigal. But the fact is, I just want you to feel what I felt twenty years ago.

“I want you to hear someone you love die _screaming_.”

So this was Wilde's last resort, eh? Hoped he could get Daddy to talk me down from killing him? Truth is it'd backfired... now I know for a _fact_ that Jacob Frisk is on the other end of this line, that he'll be listening in as Nick begs me to stop hurting him. That's just gonna make what I'm about to do all the sweeter.

I'll admit... I've jerked off to thoughts of this exact situation before, and yes I know it's weird. I never pretended to be anywhere close to mentally stable.

So fuck the merciful kill. I'm gonna take my sweet time taking Wilde apart.

“ _Agent Savage..._ ” says Jacob. “ _So be it._ ”

And that's when Nick Wilde claps his paws over his ears.

All of a sudden a pitched whine sounds from the radio. It's this pulsing, reverberating noise that sends a spike of pain deep into my skull. The frequency is shifting too quickly and at too high a pitch for my noise-canceling earbuds to filter it out, and I let out a scream as the radio slips from my paws.

By the time I clap my paws over my ears the sound has already died down, and I feel Wilde's fist smashing into my face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter commentary ahead, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Yep, we've finally looped back into the events of the very first chapter's cold open. I have to say though, when it comes to the content here my big regret up to this point is that I haven't given Rhona enough airtime. Problem is that reading the comments it's kinda clear that the amount of OCs is weighing the story down for some people and they are not fans, so I've been trying to minimize POV chapters from more peripheral OCs unless I felt it as necessarily to help evolve the plot.
> 
> I've been trying to generate a lot of moral ambiguity between a lot of the cast this whole time and trying to strike a certain balance in their moral quandries. With Rhona, I tried to make her a very considerate and kind doctor who very much empathizes with the suffering of her patients (she was quite nice to Milo for example). But she also appeared to be quite in line with everything the Prince was doing as his unofficial adopted daughter.
> 
> But as I've revealed here, it turns out that no, Rhona's been working against the Prince when it came to having his heir sired. Contraceptives, hormone supplements, and falsified hormone panels to mimic pregnancy.
> 
> I hope I captured Sebastian's voice well. It's an interesting challenge writing from the POV of someone who is only capable of feeling happiness. Being able to line that with a certain degree of menace and create an atmosphere of dread is quite fun. I really should do more psychologically unconventional characters.
> 
> Also, once again namedropping the events in Cairo. Do go back and give the ZPD file another read. Chapter 38.


	45. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy pulls through, Benjy is wounded, Nick and Judy get reacquainted, Judy finds A Thingy.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I prop myself up against the wall, far enough away that I can safely catch a breath.

Looking over my shoulder I watch in mute horror at the heaving body that's lying on the ground. The polar bear is struggling to breathe, and a thin trickle of blood is dripping from the side of his mouth. I hadn't wanted to do it, but the choice was either this or letting myself get eaten.

My mind dances between the possibilities of how _that_ would've gone down. Would he have swallowed me whole? Chewed me up bit by bit? Or just ripped me in half with his teeth?

I'm gagging, but not from the gruesome mental image of being devoured. A mammal is lying there on the ground twenty feet away, likely _dying_ , because of me.

“ _You don't swallow these pills_ ,” Jack had said. “ _If you do it'll just pass through your system. The compound is just inert then too. What you wanna do is bite through the capsule shell- hard as you can- like you're trying to crack a walnut. Once it's exposed to oxygen it'll rapidly break down into an aerosol. Just a couple deep breaths and it'll be over real quick._ ”

The clip for my gun had only one tranquilizer dart left, and I'd learned quite thoroughly that it was useless against such a massive mammal. What I did have was a cyanide capsule... one I'd jammed into the muzzle of my gun and fired straight into the bear's mouth. I'd held my breath as the needle pierced the capsule's casing, and lodged it deep in the bear's throat.

All he'd needed to do then was breathe.

In the Academy we'd mostly learned deescalation procedures and nonlethal pacification in a confrontation with a hostile perp. But one lecture had gone over the possibility of having to use lethal force. The mammals who were a little too pleased about the idea were marked down. One had even been expelled for some off-color jokes he'd made about it. This sort of thing was only ever to be used as a last resort. It wasn't pretty, but sometimes there was no other way.

Whether or not the perp pulls through I'll have to file a report on this. Not looking forward to that.

I sniffle, half-crying and half-laughing at the thought. I might've just killed a mammal and I'm thinking about _paperwork_?

 _Pick a direction, Hopps..._ I tell myself. At one end of the compound there's Benjy who needs your help. And on the other end there's Jack.

Scrubbing the tears from my cheek, I toss my empty tranq gun aside and begin to lope down the hall.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

It hasn't been long since the first cut that I begin notice it.

My reflexes are slowing. I'm starting to stumble a bit, and while others think that a mammal of my size can't be light on his toes, I'm just not a stumble kinda guy. While Danny's got his performer's grace onstage, I've got the agility of a boxer. Enough to sidestep the larger mammals I've been pitted up against, at least.

But this fox is faster than any fox has a right to be, like a little bolt of black lightning hopped up on Blue. He skulks in the shadows and avoids the circle of light I'm trying to keep him in. Not and again he'll dart towards me with a hard slash. He knows he's out-muscled and that I'm out for his blood, because he's not bold enough to go in for a killing strike just yet.

My arms and legs are lined with shallow gashes, like he's giving me a whole new set of stripes across my black and orange coat. At first I'd felt the blood trickling from my wounds, warm and wet and filling the air with a metallic scent. Now though my wounds are getting numb. I'm starting to slow down and wobble. It's getting hard to breathe, and I have to make a conscious effort to inhale at a steady pace. With each moment the poison is spreading through my system. With each heartbeat the toxin is trickling into my muscles.

It won't be long before I'm completely paralyzed. Before I'll collapse to my knees unable to stay up, and then he'll drive those daggers into my heart or draw them across my throat, if he doesn't just leave me to die of asphyxiation.

I should be scared for my life. I'm just a stupid beat cop who goes to the gym a lot. Right now though fear is gonna get me killed.

All this time I've been trying to focus on my rage: clinging to the thought of Danny in that hospital bed in a coma, without any real info on how long he'd gone without oxygen before the paramedics arrived. I just needed to stay focused enough so that maybe I can get one good blow in to knock him out.

I'd jabbed myself with the stim that Savage had issued me, but even with the elevated focus and increased energy I can't get my body to respond the way it should. Trying to get in a hit when he darts out at me is just banking on luck, and as the seconds tick by and the poison continues to spread my odds are getting closer to impossible.

Smythe had gotten a good, deep cut along my right wrist. My paw had spasmed, and then my fingers went completely numb. The dart gun slipped from my nerveless grasp and fell to the ground with a clatter.

I'm going to die. I'm _really_ going to die.

I should've talked to Danny. I should've tried to work things out with him. There are so many things I wanna say to him, so many things we should've done...

A thought comes to me then, which is really saying something. Us cats can be so single-minded, so focused on just one way of doing things. Not like a fox, who can look at things from all the angles. Or a wolf, who considers the needs of the pack and his own standing within it before he acts. No, we miss out on alternative solutions. But here and now, with me backed into a corner and my brute strength failing me, I improvise.

I flex my left paw. Good, still got enough strength.

Slapping at the flashlight on my shoulder, I flick the switch and bury the both of us in inky blackness.

Foxes... it isn't just their minds that are sharp. They've got some pretty keen night vision too, just like us tigers. I'm not sure how well we'd match up, but I'm guessing that a shadowy assassin's eyes would be particularly well-suited for the dark.

I pull out the flash grenade I'd stowed on my belt. As Agent Savage had instructed, I press the button on the side with my thumb to arm it and, just as the whisper-soft padding of his feet move closer to me, I shut my eyes tight and throw the bomb against the ground.

The pop of the thing isn't nearly as loud as a gunshot, but with the white-hot flare of burning magnesium searing through my eyelids it seems as loud as a thunderclap. Mr. Smythe lets out a gurgling hiss, his sensitive vulpine eyes blistering with the pain as he's blinded.

I open my eyelids just a smidgen as the charge dies down... just enough that I can spot him trying to get back up to his feet and away from the fading white embers.

And that's when I snarl, and lunge straight for him.

My paw slams down something soft and alive, and my fingers close in with a crushing grip on the fox's body. Those knifes bury deep into my forearm, sending a spike of hot pain through me. But I clench my jaw and, still holding onto the fucker who'd _dared_ to attack my brother, I slam him into the wall.

Hard.

The impact makes a sickening sound... both wet and crunchy at once, like the sound of a chicken carcass being packed into the trash. It's the sound of bone splintering and organs being reduced to pulp, and all of a sudden I realize how fragile a mammal's body could be, how it could so quickly it could be turned into a furry sack of flesh.

For an instant there's a hot thrill that runs through me. It's the feeling of retribution, the way his corpse slides beneath my paw against the now-wet concrete, the smell of warm blood filling the air.

No... no this isn't me. What's happening?

I'm lightheaded, that's definitely A Thing now. And my body feels so heavy. I can no longer keep a clenched fist... I can't even curl my fingers in. Something damp and ragged slips from my paw, and makes a wet plopping sound as it lands.

The adrenaline's draining away, and in its wake there's this cold numbness creeping in. I'm not tired. I'm not sleepy. Far from it... my heart's racing like it's struggling to keep the oxygen circulating to my brain, and there's this terrified panic that's beginning to set in. It feels like there's an alarm going off in my head, screaming at me for air. That I need to breathe. Please, _breathe!_

“J-Judy...” I wheeze, trying to plead for help. “S-Savage...”

I stumble through the darkness and down the hall, towards what sounds like another fight. There was a polar bear, right? I'm the muscle in the group. I was supposed to handle him...

But putting one foot in front of the other is draining too much of my strength. In my stumbling my body slams into a wall, and slide down to the floor. No, I can't lie face-down... I need to get on my side. Take pressure off the heart and lungs and make it easier to breathe. That's what the paramedics do, right? But is it the right side or the left? I can't remember...

Was this what Danny felt when he lay dying? This feeling like he's suffocating under the weight of his own body? Was he as scared as he lay there on the floor in Lionheart's bedroom?

The thought still pisses me off. That perverted lion needs to stay away from my brother.

My brother... yeah. That's right. We're twins. We shouldn't be separated like this. I'm supposed to take care of the horny little lunkhead. Who's gonna cook for him? Who's gonna keep him out of trouble? I can put up with his dumb pranks. His neediness. His smile. And the way he pulled me into the field on a summer's day all those years ago. When we shared a moment of hot and confusing sweetness together, beneath a broad blue sky.

_Just breathe... Just breathe..._

The sky is fading into a dull red sunset. Night is beginning to creep in, and the warmth of the day is fading. It's getting cold and dark, but there are still the stars. Distant, but staring up at them it's like they're getting closer.

There are still the stars.

“ _Danny..._ ”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Well whaddya know. The sonic pulser _worked_.

It was far from a sure thing, especially since the Sanguinis didn't have Stripes' earbud schematics to really test if the frequency oscillation would get past their noise-canceling effect. So our Plan C had been a lucky break finally, when Dad was unable to talk this crazed rabbit down.

Problem is that now he'll be half-deaf for the next few minutes, and that means I can't do what I normally do and try and talk my way out of this.

“ _ **I'LL CUT YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT, YOU FUCKING FOX!!!!**_ ”

Yeah, he seems reasonable. I should reason with him with my reasonableness.

Thing is after taking a hundred-something decibels of high-frequency noise and a few solid punches and kicks to the face he's still not showing any signs of slowing down. Not that I'm faring much better myself, of course. He'd bashed me over the head like a gong, shot me _twice._ Even though the kevlar lining my suit jacket kept the bullets from killing me it still hurts like a bitch.

I really wish I could do the brave thing and run away, but with the two of us fighting for control of his gun that's hardly an option.

He's clinging onto me just like last time we fought, this twenty-pound ball of fury. Both of us are gripping onto the pistol, but with his tiny little limbs all compact and close together he can bite, scratch, kick, and punch me in this dense mass of pure agony. Stars are exploding in my vision every half-second, and it feels like he's gonna try to quite literally gnaw my hand off to get his gun back.

And that's when I hear it... the high-pitched scream of a bunny echoing from down the hall.

Judy.

The urgency of getting to her fast sends me into a panic. Smythe and Brutus know they're not supposed to hurt her, but with the weapons-grade Blue running through their systems who knows what they might resort to?

It's almost on a whim when I start spinning on my feet, twirling faster and faster like a top. Savage has a hard time clinging onto me then, because his lower body is spinning outward and as I go faster the centrifugal force is just increasing until he's hanging onto me by a thread.

When his grip finally fails he lets out a squeak as he flies off and slams into a wall.

Me, I'm about ready to vomit.

My skull is still ringing from the blows, and I'm trying to get my bearings as I totter this way and that. I'm pretty sure I'd heard Judy screaming from this direction, but the room is tilting and rolling, swaying up and down and side to side and it's a struggle to even walk in a straight line. Even though I'd come out with Savage's pistol in that scuffle I better not try shooting anything. Dizzy as I am I couldn't hit a barn door if it was right in front of me.

“Judy...” I croak. “ _Judy_... hang... on...”

Behind me Savage lets out an angry hiss as he gets to his feet, limping after me. My heart leaps into my throat when I glance at him over my shoulder and see the pure murder in his eyes. The dizziness is abating though, and I try to scoot into a light jog. But there's the taste of blood in the back of my throat, and my lungs are burning with the exertion of fending off this crazed rabbit.

Oh crap. Oh _crap_ he's coming right at me!

Spinning around I turn towards him and shoot, trying to aim for something nonlethal even though that's only ever something you see in the movies. The bullets crack uselessly against the concrete though, and Jack Savage lets out a scary-ass bunny scream as he pounces.

I let out an “Oof!” as he knocks the wind out of me. In the distance I hear something clattering against the floor, but now I'm just wrestling with him trying to keep this little asshole from gouging my eyes out.

He jabs towards me all of a sudden, striking me right in the middle of my throat with two knuckles. I gag as I grope at my windpipe, tongue bobbing with hard swallows as I try to work out that painful lump in my larynx.

And that's when his paw reaches down, and I hear the click of a switchblade.

“ _No!_ ” I gasp, gripping onto his wrist just as he stabs down towards my face.

My eyes widen in horror as the tip of his knife inches closer and closer. He's spread his weight out so I can't easily knock him off, and he's pushing that deadly point down with every ounce of strength he has. As I stare up into his striped face I can see him smiling own at me. Just another inch and it'll pierce my eye. And no matter how much I scream or thrash it'll just slide deeper, punching through the back of the socket and worming into my brain.

 _It could be a quick way to go_... whispers a grim little voice in the back of my mind. _It's inevitable now. Maybe if you just let it happen it won't hurt so much._

“Judy...” I whimper as the quivering tip brushes my cheek. “Carrots... I'm sorry...”

_**Bang!** _

Both me and Savage freeze at the sound of the gunshot. Though Jack's still pressing down on me, the knife stops just short of my flesh. My chest is heaving as I suck down air in quick, greedy gulps. Slowly, carefully, I dare to let my eyes roll back and follow Jack's gaze. There, ten feet away and holding Savage's gun, is Judy.

“H-Hopps...” Jack pants. He lets a little half-smile play on his face when he speaks to her, “Good. Good, you're here. I was just-”

“Get off of him, Jack.”

Judy's a tough little cookie, that's for sure. But up until now I'd never heard her so serious. All the bounciness and hectic energy is gone, and there's just this grim stiffness, hard and cold as a gravestone.

“Listen...” Jack continues. The only thing that spoils his casual demeanor is his heavy breathing. That and the switchblade his has up against my face. But aside from that he seems downright conversational now. Maybe even a touch flirty. “The City Council met just yesterday, and they voted to bring back the death penalty for those who were involved in the Twilight Cathedral bombing. After everything Wilde here has done you gotta realize how it's gonna go down. Let's just make this easier on everyone.”

“He's getting a trial first, Jack,” Judy says without budging an inch. “We're doing this by the book.”

“Judy-” is all Savage is able to get out when she pulls the trigger again.

I flinch as Jack is lets out a strangled grunt. The knife slips from his fingers, his eyes widen in shock. And clutching his middle he lets out a spasm and crumples to the ground.

“C-Carrots?” I pant.

“Don't call me that, Nick...” her paws are trembling now, and her little body is heaving with her breaths.

“You... uh...”

“He's wearing a vest,” Judy sniffs, “And I didn't aim for anything vital. He'll be fine.”

“Okay... okay, that's cool I guess,” I swallow and scoot away from Jack as he moans on the floor. “Judy, lemme explain-”

“NO! I'm _sick_ of being lied to and manipulated and being told what to do and what to believe! I'm just _**sick**_ of it, Nick! And I- I think I just killed a mammal and...” she's having a hard time holding the gun straight. The tears are pouring freely down her cheeks.

Slowly I prop myself up into a kneeling position, keeping my paws in he air. There's nothing I wanna do more now than to hug her, to comfort the little bunny who I'd tried to protect. But I know all too well that this was the last thing she needed. At least, from me.

“All right, Judy...” I say, lowering my eyes. “No more tricks... no more lies. No more hustles. I give up.”

“You have the right to remain silent...” she begins, sniffling. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”

Despite the awkwardness and the pain of the situation, it comes as a complete relief when I feel the metal cuffs click onto my wrists.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“You shot me...” Jack coughs. “You actually _shot_ me...”

I've got his arm slung over my shoulder and I'm dragging him along as Nick leads us down the hall. At first I'd thought about holding the gun in my other paw just in case, but I have this unhealthy suspicion that Jack might just try to snatch it from me and kill Nick. So instead I'm keeping the gun in my holster and the clip in my pocket.

“I'm sorry, Jack. But I'm not going to let you kill a suspect.”

“No, no... I commend your actions, actually. That sorta thing takes guts,” Jack grumbles. I'm pretty sure he's making a solid point of ignoring the fact that Nick's still breathing, because he's just staring at the floor. “ _God_ I really need a candy bar though... stim crashes are brutal without some quick calories...”

“We need to find Benjy,” I say, “I think I heard them fighting in this direction.”

Nick seems to get increasingly nervous as we continue down the hall, though. I don't like it, how he's being so completely quiet now. Jack had me take out the earbuds that Nick was wearing and deactivate them so the Sanguinis couldn't listen in to what was happening.

In a small way I'm grateful for him being quiet. I don't have think I have it in me to listen to anything he has to say right now, what sorts of excuses he's got for what he's done. Was it to try to protect me? That's the only reason I could think of for why Nick would get into something like this. He sounded so _scared_ on that last phone call he made, when the ZIA was on his tail. Like he was under duress.

Still, that doesn't excuse what'd happened in the Twilight Cathedral. Our friends... our coworkers... so many of them dead, and Nick was complicit in it.

As we continue down the corridor my flashlight falls onto a big lump of a polar bear. He's just lying there, wheezing and with his eyes half-open. Some dim part of him recognizes me, and he paws weakly at the floor. Whether it's an attempt to get at me or a plea for help I'm not sure.

“Was this your work, Hopps?” Jack says, glancing at the bear. “How did you do it?

“Cyanide capsule,” I say, sniffling and scrubbing my cheek with my free paw.

Jack whistles, impressed. “Well, I doubt that dosage will kill him outright, but we really should put him down.”

“That's... that's _horrible_.”

“Whatever you say,” he says casually. I don't think I've ever met such a callous bunny in my life. “Tell me... have you ever thought of joining the ZIA?”

“Not now, Jack. Please... not now.”

“Um... Judy?” Nick says with a nervous twitch. “I'm... I'm smelling a _lot_ of blood up ahead.”

Oh my God.

“Jack stay right here!” I say quickly as I unsling his arm from over my shoulder and set him down.

Racing ahead while gripping Nick's arm we come across Benjy lying on his side. His arms and legs are covered in gashes, and there's a small cut on his cheek. Fresh tears trail along the bridge of his nose. Benjy's chest rises and falls, faintly, but the movements are so small and weak it might've as well as been a kitten breathing. His left paw is soaked with blood and dusted with bits of black fur.

“Mr. Smythe... he actually...” Nick says in a low whisper. “Oh no...”

“Benjy!” I cry out. I'm shaking his massive head, waving a paw in front of his eyes. “Benjy, please! Please, you gotta just stay with us, all right? The ZIA is on its way with an ambulance!”

That was the only bit of information that Nick had volunteered when we apprehended him... that the monitoring devices the ZIA had installed had been disabled by Smythe before we'd even stepped into the compound. At the time I'd just thought to myself: Hey, good thing we beat the bad guys then, because now we didn't have to fall back on our Plan B of hiding out and waiting for help that wasn't gonna arrive.

We'd called in to the ZIA for some ambulances and an escort, but now with Benjy on death's door and with every minute counting, that delay might just kill him.

Nick kneels down next to me. “Hey big guy... I know we didn't part on the best terms, but you gotta pull through, okay?”

There's nothing we can do. The only reason Danny had survived the same poison was because Lionheart had given him mouth-to-mouth to keep him breathing until the ambulance got there. But with just me and Nick and Jack here... with the utter size difference and our relatively tiny lungs, even if we could somehow combine our efforts... that just wasn't possible.

“ _Otta jinansi..._ ” Benjy says in a hoarse whisper. “ _Huehaya... mauwei_...”

If I'd thought I'd cried myself out after these last few weeks I was wrong. My cheeks are soaked with tears, they're dripping freely onto the cold concrete floor. I shake him, but it's useless.

“Benjy... Benjy please don't talk! You have to _breathe_!”

“ _Dani hajkaya... aht'jassi e'taii... jinansi..._ ”

“Wh-what's he saying?” Nick says with a sniffle.

“It's Tigrian,” Jack says as he lopes towards us, one paw propped against the wall for support while the other clutches his middle. “He's calling for his brother. Telling him that the stars look beautiful.”

“Benjy...” I whisper, stroking the bridge of his nose.

Nick straightens then, and his eyes sharpen in realization.

“I can help him.”

“Bullshit,” Jack grunts. “It's a tetrodotoxin derivative. There's no antidote.”

“The ZIA might've specialized in drones and other tech, but the Sanguinis spent _years_ on medical and chemical research,” Nick explains. “I think Smythe carried the antidote on him. Just in case, you know?”

“He's just trying to escape,” Jack insists. “Don't believe him.”

“Judy...” Nick's pleads, his big green eyes bright and watery, “he's my friend too.”

There isn't even a decision to be made here. Anything to save Benjy. Anything to keep another mammal from dying.

We race down the hall, following the trail of bloodstains that Benjy had left behind. With so much blood and the black fur on his paw it was clear that he was the one who'd come out ahead in their fight. There's no need to worry about a fox assassin stalking in the shadows.

We almost run past the body, this nondescript lump of black fur and mangled flesh. When Nick recognizes it for what it is his eyes bulge out and he scrambles to the corner to vomit. I feel kinda sick myself, but I swallow hard and approach the corpse. The coppery stink and the... well, _meaty_ smell of it leaves me feeling severely queasy.

“Wh- what does it look like?” I choke.

“It's- _**urp**_! A thingy... y'know, a thingy!”

“What _**thingy**_?!” I ask frantically, peeling away layers of blood-soaked cloth. There are a few spare knives in a couple sheaths, some coils of wire, some scissors and other tools...

“G-green injection pen...”

Pulling back another fold, I find them. Wiping the blood off with my paws I pull out the multiple injection pens in Smythe's pocket, and holding them in a bundle I race back to Benjy with Nick trotting behind me.

When I arrive back at Benjy's side Jack is sitting down next to him with one paw pressed against the tiger's thick neck.

“He's stopped breathing, and his pulse is really weak,” Jack says. But then he looks down at what I have in my paws, and his eyes bulge. “You found them?”

“Y-yes!” I pant, trying not to think of what I had to dig through. “Do you know how to use them?”

“Dosage shouldn't matter at this point. Just uncap them and jab them into his side here,” Jack says quickly, pulling up Benjy's t-shirt and pointing between two ribs. “And here, just below the rib cage. We need to get his respiratory muscles working again.”

I bite the cap, ignoring the nauseating metallic residue on the plastic, and jab the needle hard into the point that Jack had indicated. Then I jab him again, and again, until all four of the injection pens lie scattered and empty on the ground.

“Come on Benjy...” I whisper. “Please. _Please...!_ ”

But he doesn't move. He doesn't twitch. His mouth is half-open, his eyes are closed, and he is so still he might as well be dead. His pink nose has gone ashen, and fringes of blue line his mouth.

My heart's racing, and I'm shaking my head in disbelief. But I refuse to give up on him. I _refuse_ to let him die. Not when so many good mammals have already died because of the Sanguinis. Not when I have to answer to Danny and tell him everything I'd tried when his brother lay suffocating on the floor.

Stepping back a couple of yards I hunker down and, with a twitch of my tail, I run straight at Benjy. Jack's eyes widen, and he dodges aside just in time as I slam into his body.

“Judy?” Jack says, shaking his head. “Judy, please...”

“She's trying to roll him onto his back,” Nick says as he arrives, “So are you going to help us or not?”

I swear, I could almost kiss him. Even now.

Jack's too injured to get a running start, but he helps Nick push against Benjy's chest with all his might as I step back against the wall once more. Even with his paws still cuffed behind him he glances at me, and I look at him. A little smile plays along his mouth, like he's telling me not to worry. That this is all gonna work out.

And then I'm running. I ram hard against that big wall of muscles and stripes, more than three hundred pounds of tiger. His shoulder turns, his body rolls, and with a little effort on Nick's part to shove aside his big arm I climb onto Benjy's chest and grip his collar.

“Come on, Benjy...” I say, hopping and slamming both feet hard into the center of his chest.

_**Thump!** _

Gotta get his blood pumping. Gotta make sure the antidote circulates into his muscles.

_**Thump!** _

I'm not gonna go back to Danny in my uniform with Benjy's cap in my paws to give him the bad news. I _refuse_ to let my friend die here in this horrible dungeon.

_**Thump!** _

“Ghk... khuh.. huuuh...” Beny huffs, and his eyes pop open. His chest is rising and falling under me now, and I scramble off of him as he drinks in oxygen in ever-more-greedy gulps.

“You did it, Judy...” Nick pants, and he smiles in genuine relief. “You saved his life.”

“So did you,” I say, and suddenly I feel so incredibly exhausted. I pull Nick close, wrapping my arms around him for the first time in what seemed like ages. I ignore the cuffs, I ignore the stiff suit of kevlar fibers he's wearing. I just want to hold him and dry my tears on his shirt.

“Thank you, Nick...” I whisper. “Thank you...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author notes: Spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Welp I got to break out some of my con langing here. For the Tigrian that Benjy struggles to make out I kinda just mashed together some augmented words from east-Asian languages I know and altered the phonemes a bit. What he's saying roughly translates to “The stars... they're so beautiful. Danny, look. Can you see them? He stars...”
> 
> I'm actually really surprised by the angry responses from the last chapter regarding Judy's combat scene there. You guys didn't really think she'd take the cyanide pill herself, did you? You should kinda know by now that fakeouts are kinda my thing. The big clue should've been the last line in which Judy said:
> 
> “Deep breath now, Judy. You've got no other choice.”
> 
> I made it a point to emphasize it was an aerosolized poison (which is very effective even at low doses). That means if she meant to take it herself, she should've been breathing OUT before taking it, not in. Judy was holding her breath to keep from breathing in any cyanide fumes because she meant to use it on the bear, a use of lethal force that someone as loving and community-oriented as Judy would find horrifying.


	46. The Darkness Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy confronts Nick, Nick and a trip to the woods, Skye goes to rehab, a pair of unexpected visitors pop in.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

Elkredge examines the bunny-sized ice chest in the back of the van the Sanguinis had taken me here in. He's taking a long, satisfied drag on a cigarette, and when he turns to me his eyes narrow. The guy had one of his antlers shot off in the raid on the Twilight Cathedral, and he's had to get the other trimmed to balance it out. By the way he's looking at me he seems to think it's my fault somehow. Not that I'm unsympathetic or anything, but he'd be shedding them in a couple months anyway.

“So what was the plan, Wilde? If you couldn't capture him alive you'd kill him and put his body in cold storage?” he says, running his fingers through the granulated ice.

Well, bare minimum was that Gramps wanted _part_ of Jack at least. There's a blueberries joke buried somewhere in that, but I don't think any of us are in the mood.

It'd taken another forty-five minutes before the ZIA got here, and we'd done our best to take care of Benjy until they arrived. He was still pretty out of it, and had only managed a few more words in Tigrian before he passed out. The important thing was that he was breathing... I just hope there wasn't too much damage from how long he'd gone without.

There are two ambulances here, along with five ZIA vans and even a medical evac chopper they'd brought in for Benjy. That'd been the first to arrive on the scene with Elkredge in the backseat. Brutus had been sedated, strapped down, and piled into the back of an ambulance by the ZMS.

Savage though... he'd been pretty pissed off when Elkredge ordered the medics to take him straight to the hospital. Guy obviously didn't want to let me out of his sight, or he wanted to get another chance to slide that switchblade between my ribs. Thankfully Elkredge though pulled rank on him and said that _he_ was heading this team now, and that _he_ was gonna call the shots.

So Jack had grumpily gone past me on a stretcher with an IV line in his arm, giving me the finger with his free paw.

Despite everything that's happening now, I can't help but feel a bit amused by that.

Between the radio chatter and the forensics team coming in and out of the compound, the flash of the emergency lights from the ambulances that're threatening to give me a seizure, and the cigarette smoke that's spoiling the fresh air out here, Judy walks up to us. She's hardly unscathed... one paw is clutching her middle like she'd taken a bad hit from Brutus, but out of all of us she'd come out with the fewest scratches.

“I'd like to talk to Nick.”

“Sorry, Hopps. It's against procedure,” Elkredge says as he exhales a puff of smoke. Not that I believe a word of it of course... the guy clearly doesn't give two shits about procedure.

“ _Please_ , Agent Elkredge. It's of a personal nature.”

For a moment he stares at her, then nods. As he turns away he mutters something uncomplimentary about rabbits, but Judy ignores it. She takes me by the arm and draws me away a few feet, though Elkredge is still keeping us under tabs out of the corner of his vision.

“Nick...” she says in a low voice, “I... I need to know whose side you're on here. What happened? Why did you join the Vulpes Sanguinis? They said you're Frisk's grandson or something? I _know_ you couldn't have been attracted to them just from that.”

“It's... complicated...” I say with a wince. Elkredge isn't looking at us, but he still might be able to hear. Hell, the ZIA Agents going back and forth might also pick up snatches of our conversation. Or maybe they could've bugged Judy without her knowing. My skull's tingling, and it isn't just from the painkillers they'd given me to alleviate the ass-beating Savage gave me.

Man, that name really suits him, doesn't it?

“Nick... does it have anything to do with- with the black fur Jack found under my bed?”

I shudder, and if feels like my insides have been filled with ice water.

“So you know about that, huh? I... I wanted to tell you so _badly_ Judy. I did! I even tried dropping hints to tell you how dangerous things were getting, tried to get you to go back home to Bunnyburrow!”

“Zootopia's my home now, Nick,” Judy says firmly. “You can't expect me to leave it when it needs protecting!”

“You don't know what it was like,” I shiver. “I was _so scared_. More scared of anything in my entire _life_. When Rufinius... you remember the night of the warehouse fire? He'd kidnapped me then, and while he had his goons hold me down he showed me a live feed of your bedroom on a PawPad. When Smythe crawled out from under the bed... while you were sleeping...”

Oh god, I'm panicking again. I haven't been on the meds Conall had prescribed for ages. I'm hyperventilating, and it's only when Judy cups my face with a paw that I begin to calm down enough to continue.

“I knew that as long as you were in the City he could get to you. A guy who had assassins in his employ. Who was having you watched in your own apartment. Someone who had mammals _burned alive_ , Judy. And _you_ were in their sights.”

“So you did it to protect me...” she says slowly. Her expression is flat. Neutral.

“I _swear_ I wanted _so much_ to tell you. But Rufinius was having me monitored! Ever since the night of the warehouse fire he's made me wear those earpieces so he could listen in on everything I said and did. And if I did like, write a note or something? What if you'd thought it was a joke, and you'd come to me asking about it?”

“We're... we _were_ partners, Nick...” Judy huffs. “You need to learn to _trust_ me!”

“Carrots, you know I love you, and I'm _really_ sorry to say this... but sometimes _you don't know when to shut_ up!”

She lets out an offended little squeak at that.

“Oh come on, you know what I'm talking about! Who was it that threatened Mr. Big _to his face_ when we had _five_ polar bear mob thugs on our butts? We almost got iced!”

“That was different!”

“Yeah, because that situation was much _safer_! What if you'd tried to recruit someone else for help and it turned out you'd trusted the wrong mammal?”

“ _You_ were a cop, _you_ don't get to work outside of the law!” she hisses.

“Tell that to your new partner Agent Stripes!”

“I'll have you know I turned him down! I smacked him right in the face, even!”

“Oh so he _was_ hitting on you!”

“Shut up!” Judy grabs my muzzle and holds it shut with both paws. My eyes bulge when I stare into hers. “Nick, I'm not gonna let you turn this into a lover's quarrel when you know _damn_ well that that isn't what this is about! You were working for the Vulpes Sanguinis!”

“ _Mf nnt nuh n'eeng frn hmm!_ ”

She lets go of my muzzle.

“I didn't do anything for him!” I huff, “Rufinius even promised that he wouldn't make me go on any missions or do any assignments or anything! All I had to do was play the part of a good little hostage and stay quiet and just _watch_. The only reason I came here today was because Rufinius was sending Brutus and Smythe on this mission, and he said you were gonna be here too! You think I'd trust those mute psychos to _not_ murder you to death?!”

“Yeah this again,” Judy snorts, prodding my chest hard. “I _might_ believe you if it weren't for what you did to Skye. If it weren't for all our colleagues who died in the Twilight Cathedral. You tried to murder a vixen, Nick. You were complicit in a _bombing_ that killed _dozens_. And from what I hear you were at a slave auction and you did _nothing_ to save those bunnies! You think I care about my own life if staying safe means bunnies are going to be sold off as property and _thirty_ mammals are gonna die for you to 'protect' me? You should've contacted the ZIA the _moment_ you found out what was going to happen! _Not_ just skulk in the shadows just so you can throw me into a safe like I'm grandma's pearls! You should've just let them _kill me_ to save everyone else!”

There. She really had to go there.

I close my mouth and look away, shaking my head. My ears flatten against my skull. I wish I could explain things to her. But I can't. Not here. Not now.

She sighs, and moves in close to grip my jacket. I hate my clothes. This stiff kevlar suit. The starched fabric. The dull brown and plain white. But Judy clings onto me, not angry exactly, or scared, or sad even. Sure she's sniffling, and I can feel the dampness spreading through my shirt and wetting my chest fur. But right now she just seems so _drained_.

“Nick... Jack thinks that there's a mole on the task force. Do you know anything about that?”

She must've felt me stiffen, because she looks up at me, and follows my gaze as I stare out at everyone. At Elkredge, who's still puffing away and pretending not to see us. At the Agents glancing up. At the paramedics who are just now getting ready to drive off. Gramps had sent three of the henchmammals disguised as ambulance workers hadn't he?

It could be anyone here.

Or could it be a ZPD Officer? It _had_ to be someone in the precinct. Someone who could get access to all sorts of sensitive information. Someone who could get in touch with every mammal involved, sniff out every secret...

“I- I can't...”

My heart's racing. My chest is puffing in and out, and my pulse is hammering in my ears. The mole. They must've been at the Precinct to keep visual tabs on me. The Sanguinis were listening to me all the time. They must've been watching too. Aside from Judy and Benjy there wasn't a mammal I could trust in there. There wasn't a shadow I wouldn't jump at. Doc Conall might say that paranoia is gripping me, that this is just another panic attack manifesting in some crazy new way. But it's real. The threat is _real_ , damn it!

“Nick... Nick, please...” she cups my muzzle then, and there's genuine worry in her eyes. “You _have_ to tell me what you know.”

“I- I don't know anything!” I whimper, but the tears are falling now. I can taste the salt at the back of my throat.

Oh my _God_ what have I done?! Thirty mammals died because of me. I'm gonna get the death penalty. They're gonna strap me down to a table in a cold white room and inject me with a cocktail of drugs to stop my heart. Every family member of every mammal who died is gonna be watching through a glass window blaming me with their eyes, and Judy's gonna be there and she'll have to watch too, her paws pressed to the glass. She's gonna have to see me _die_ just like I'd been terrified of seeing _her_ die to the Sanguinis.

Or worse... maybe she won't come at all. Maybe she'll just hate me that much. She'll move on with her life, forget about me. Forget about all the fun times we had and how we broke the Bellwether Conspiracy. All the cases we'd solved, and all the dates we had and the sights we've seen.

The picnics on the outskirts of town, watching as the glow of the City lit up the summer night sky. Or the first time she had gumbo when I brought her to this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the Marshlands. The Thaw Festival this summer in Tundratown. That night we were trapped in a gazebo in the Rainforest because of an unscheduled heavy rain, and we made love right there against the hard patter of water against the roof.

“I love you, Carrots...” I whimper. The forest around me is spinning, and the soil is hard when I plop down to my knees. “If... if you can believe just one thing I say... I love you...”

Elkredge is looking at us, raising an eyebrow. One of the paramedics is running over with a medkit. Judy is calling my name, begging me to just speak to her. But the ground is rushing up to meet me, and the world is so dark.

_Don't worry, Jellybean..._ I hear Dad saying as everything else slips away. The letter he'd sent... _was_ it him? He hadn't known about it when I brought it up, but the last line of it nonetheless echoes in his voice.

_It's always darkest before the dawn..._

 

~~~~~

 

When I wake up again I'm lying in the back seat of a car. I've been on my side with my paws cuffed behind my back for a little while now, and shoulder aches. Sitting up with a groan, I wait for my vision to clear as I stare through the metal grill separating me from the driver. It doesn't take much to recognize the back of his head... a moose with no antlers.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

“Judy... I was just...” I start. Great, I'd drooled into the seat and now my left cheek is damp.

“She's fine. Told her to get in the ambulance with Jack so she could get treated. You're pretty banged up, but it's nothing life-threatening. So here you are.”

I look out the back window. Then the front. Just open stretches of road as far as the eye can see, and a pitch-dark night out here in the countryside.

“Where are the others?” I ask, scrunching up my shoulder so I can wipe my face against it. Granted I don't have that high of an opinion of myself right now, but surely the ZIA would think I'm a pretty high priority target. They really should have a whole bunch of armored vehicles making sure I'm safely transported to wherever I'm going. Not that I'm a danger or anything, but I know how far Rufinius would go to get what he wants.

If he even wants me. If _anyone_ aside from the law enforcement wants me now.

“I'm more than enough to deal with you if it comes to that, Wilde. The Sanguinis' forces have been pretty decimated thanks to Seraphine's RACERs,” he snorts at that. “But just in case I've got a security detail escorting an empty van to Highwatch as a distraction, in case your Prince decides to get any ideas about a rescue operation.”

“He's not _my_ Prince,” I mutter. “Though if I'm not going to Highwatch...?”

“A ZIA facility. Just a temporary measure until I can get a proper caravan to take you there. What happened at the Twilight Cathedral cost us a lot of damn fine Agents.”

“I didn't have anything to do with that, you know... I... I didn't....”

I see him glance at me through the rear-view mirror. He looks so tired. Like how I must look right now.

“Yeah, you're not gonna be a font of information, are you? I know Rufinius didn't let you learn jack shit about his inside operations. Not anything that mattered, at least,” he says. “You know, when Jack first told us that you were a Frisk, I was the first one to voice my doubts. Frankly, you're way too shabby and pathetic to be working for the Sanguinis, much less as a Praetor. And your psych profile never fit either.”

I really don't know how to feel about that. Maybe I'll take it as kinda a backpawed way of giving a compliment.

“I didn't want to do it...” I murmur. “The Sanguinis... the Prince... he made me join them.”

“Yeah. I overheard you telling Hopps just that.”

“I didn't get involved in their operations.”

“So you said.”

“I'm...” well, I'm not _innocent_ , exactly. “I'm... it's not my _fault_...”

I'm not even sure he heard that last one. It comes out as just such a quiet little mutter.

“Yeah. I believe you.”

I blink. “You do?”

“You know what the most important part of my job is, Wilde?” he says, pulling yet another cig out of the pack in his pocket. My nose wrinkles when he lights up. Seriously? _Right_ in the car? He _could_ at least roll a window down. “It isn't the tactical planning or security protocols or any of that sexy shit. I've known Jack longer than almost anyone. As long as Seraphine herself. And my number-one duty is to make sure he's protected.

“Thing is, me and Seraphine have very different ideas of what he needs to be protected _from_. She basically adopted him when we first saved him from that blood-soaked warren back there. Made sure he got his three square meals a day, got shipped of to school and got his doctor's visits and everything.

“Me, I got to know him the most on our missions together. By then he'd recovered for the most part, especially when Skye came into the mix. I watched as this scared little kit became the Agent we all know and love today. But I've seen him change, Wilde. I've seen him turn from this energetic, motivated little ball of fluff in our early missions into something dark the closer we got to the Sanguinis.

“Worst part is I knew it'd happen. I'd tried to rein it in, to keep him on the level. But I'm sure you know how fucking hard it can be to keep a rabbit under control. So now... now I gotta do what I need to for him.”

The car begins to slow down, and Elkredge pulls us over to the side of the road. I look this way and that, not knowing what's happening. My night vision takes in the line of trees we're next to now.

Elkredge exits the vehicle, and circles back to pull open the passenger door.

“What's...” I begin.

“Out of the car, Wilde,” Elkredge says, “And turn around. Lemme see your paws.”

With a gulp, I do as he says. His hooves grip my arm, and I feel the cuffs click as he unlocks them. I rub my wrists, bewildered at the gesture, and kinda relieved at the delicious feeling of being able to properly crack my shoulders now. Turning around I look up at him.

“What're you doing?”

“Protectiing Jack,” says Elkredge, gently letting out a long, slow puff of smoke. It drifts upward in the cold night air, curling around the space where his antlers should've been.

“You're a slimy piece of shit, Wilde. You're a liar, a con artist, and a preyophile to boot. But you aren't a murderer. And you're not to blame for all those mammals who died when we raided the Twilight Cathedral. If I'm being honest with myself, which, y'know, is rare when I'm sober as I am right now... I'm the one who should've seen what was gonna happen then.”

He nods his big, round snout towards the woods. “You'll wanna head over that direction. Gonna be a long-ass walk to get to anything close to civilization, but you'll live. Hitchhike, maybe offer some truckers a little something on the side. Ride for a ride, y'know? I know you're not gonna run back to the Sanguinis after everything that's happened, so my advice to you is to forget about your friends and family here, forget about Hopps. Make a new life for yourself somewhere far away. Just never show your muzzle in Zootopia again. Because the moment you do, you'll get gunned down. And that's if you're lucky.”

I stare up at him.

“Why are you doing this, Elkredge?”

“Because I believe you,” he shrugs, the glowing end of the cigarette casting his big round nose in a warm glow. “Because I'm nice. Because I'm just a couple short years short of retirement and I just don't fucking care about some sleazy con artist taking the blame for the plots of mammals way smarter than him. Take your pick.”

“You said this was to protect Jack though...” I say suspiciously. “How does me getting away do that?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he says, rubbing the side of his head. “You _do_ know he has it out for you, right? Sure he won't be able to get to you at the ZIA, but once we're done debriefing you, when you're sent to Highwatch? You'll be surrounded by violent criminals, Wilde. Murderers, rapists, gangsters all out for themselves. And Jack will find a way to get to you through them. All he needs to do is grease a few paws and you're fucking _dead_. And what's left of his soul is fucking forfeit.”

I shake my head. “N-no... no that won't-”

“You ever see a prison shanking, Wilde? A piece of a metal bedframe, the end of a toothbrush, even a bunch of fucking Jolly Ranchers melted together and sharpened to a point. Things are only a couple inches long, it'll take dozens of puncture wounds to kill you. And that's if Jack doesn't slip in and deal with you _personally_. I wouldn't put it past him to use every ounce of his training to slip in, drag you out, and keep you locked up in a bunker and spend the next _year_ making you die as slowly as possible.”

I shudder. “Real piece of work, this partner you've got.”

“Thanks, I'll be sure to tell Hopps the same thing.”

“But... I can't leave. Not now. Not if I'm really as innocent as you think I am.”

“No way in hell are you innocent. Just take my advice, fox,” he says coldly. “Turn around. Run away.”

There's something in his tone then. Something I almost kinda-sorta recognize. He's lying to me, isn't he? I've spent enough years conning other mammals that I recognize the little tells and inflections of someone who's hiding something. But then again, he's ZIA, right? ZIA Agents are _always_ hiding something, so it isn't like it's unusual.

I look up at him then, and see him in a whole new light. There's something sinister about that big face, old and tired as it is. Maybe it's the orange glow of the cigarette. Or maybe it's the paranoia, the fear of being eavesdropped on that I've had to live with for so many months. Maybe it's the pills I've been taking that keep me limited to an hour of sleep a night. Have I gone crazy? Because I'm looking at him and now I'm thinking...

He's ZIA.

“You're gonna shoot me...” I gasp, trying to resist the urge to back away from him. “The moment I try to escape into those woods you're- you're gonna _kill_ me, before Jack gets the chance to do it...”

“You're paranoid.”

“No! No, I'm _not_ giving you the chance! You wanna kill me? You do it _right here_ , Elkredge!” I insist, pointing right in the middle of my head. I wish I could say I'm being brave right now, but frankly I think I'm having an episode. “I've fucked up more than enough these past few months, and I'm not gonna give Judy _another_ reason to hate me! So if you're gonna kill me then you put a bullet in the goddamn face, because I sure as HELL am not gonna have Judy think I died running with one in my back!”

He stares at me then, bewildered.

“You know, Wilde...” he says, dropping the end of his cigarette on the ground and mashing it into the soil with his hoof, “I'm not sure if you're too smart for your own good, or just too fucking stupid.”

Not long after, I'm once again sitting in the back of the car, my paws cuffed behind my back once again. I'm doubled over and crying, and deep down I can't help but wonder if I made the right decision, or if I've just fucked up yet again.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Skye shuffles along the support beams with her paws, the otter Nurse Lutrogale encouraging her the whole way. She's beaming with each trembling step Skye takes, gushing about how excellent her patient is doing. I want to smile at that... it must be how everyone else sees me most of the time. Just chipper and optimistic.

I came in to visit Skye after I got my X-rays done and had gotten some medication for the pain. No broken ribs, thankfully, but I'll have to take it easy for the next couple weeks. No more shenanigans going rogue. Good thing Jack had volunteered to be the one to write up the report about this incident.

Skye was happy to see me, just like last time. In fact, she'd insisted I come with her to rehab as we went over what'd happened. Lutrogale had tried to gently discourage the shop talk, but Skye was pretty experienced at convincing the nurse that it was the best thing to help “buoy her mood.” After all, a positive attitude was always important when it came to rehab.

“I'm just trying to make sense of it all,” I sigh, “I think... I think I said something really horrible to Nick. Told him he should've let me die to make sure everyone else wasn't caught in the bombing.”

“Well yeah,” Skye huffs as she takes another step, “I mean if we're gonna just reduce it to cold ethical calculus, one bunny for thirty-two lives seems like a really good trade.”

“Wait,” I say, wondering if she's being sarcastic, “So do you agree with me or not?”

I hop forward a couple steps so I can turn around and look her in the eye.

“Oh sure, keep showing off those perfectly functional legs of yours. Oh don't look at me like that, Hopps! You know I'm kidding,” she smirks down at the nurse, “See? Told you she'd put me in a good mood. And to answer your question... well, real important thing for a spy, is you gotta act like you're noncommittal when you need to. But let's just say that if I were thrown into a situation like his... I'm not sure what I'd do either. Still, you gotta admit that this isn't the worst possible explanation of what happened.”

“How could it get any _worse_?”

“For one,” Skye huffs as she takes another step. It's actually really heartening to see her getting stronger with each passing day. “I'm pretty sure that right after the bombing Jack was convinced that Nick sold us out. That he only gave you guys the coordinates to the Twilight Cathedral to lure the task force into a trap.”

“Nick would never do that,” I gasp, horrified at the thought. Somehow that hadn't even _occurred_ to me. “Even if you take in everything else he never would've done that. He's not a monster. He's... complicated.”

“Glad you see it that way. Now you know how I feel about Jack.”

Me and Lutrogale help Skye back into her wheelchair, though not without some grumbling. She gently waves off the nurse who offers to escort us to her room. As oddly chipper as Skye is about her situation she really hates being seen rolling down the halls, and being pushed along by medical staff is out of the question.

“You know, the worst part about being in a wheelchair is that I'm way too young, slim, and pretty for it,” she sniffs. “So when mammals see me in one they know something is _seriously_ wrong with me. It's gonna really _kill_ my dating scene.”

“Skye...” I lean in and speak to her in a low voice. “What do you think about Jack's suspicions? That there might be a mole?”

“That's dangerous,” she says. All the joking and good humor is gone from her now, and her voice sharpens into an edge. “If there's someone in the precinct who had a direct line to the Prince... well, it's no wonder the Sanguinis has been able to stay one step ahead of us this whole time. Chances are that's how the bombing occurred. Maybe Nick had honestly _tried_ to feed intel to us, but when the mole found out we knew the location of the Cathedral, Rufinius was able to spring that trap.”

“I'll never understand you, Skye... how can you so readily defend someone who tried to _kill_ you?”

“You came to me for advice, not to hear me bitch,” she chuckles. “Which means you need to have your preconceptions challenged. The worst advice anyone could give is what you already know.”

“So is that really what you believe? That Nick is the good guy here?”

“Now that's an interesting question...” she says with a smirk. She sure loves being enigmatic, doesn't she?

“Whatever Nick's intentions though, he had no excuse for not trying to tip us off once he learned about the explosives,” I say with a shiver, thinking about the thirty-two Officers and Agents and Razorbacks who wouldn't be going home to their families...

“Probably not. But the fact is it the outcome could've been much worse,” Skye says, turning back to continue down the hall to her room. “Elkredge came to me for a consult soon after it happened, asked me to take a look at the map overlay. The epicenters of the bombs were mostly along the periphery of the Cathedral. When Wilde led you guys on that chase he took you deeper into towards the vault. That area was basically solid concrete... everyone was safer there.”

Nick still should've told us, I think morosely. He shouldn't have kept everything secret.

But then again... what would _I_ have done in that position? If someone had threatened to murder Nick, or _torture_ him to death... would I also have gone along that series of short little steps, each seeming almost as reasonable as the last, until I got to where he stood now? When I said he should've let the Sanguinis kill me... if someone had told me I should've let Nick die, if _Nick_ had told me that...

It sounds so cold now that I think about it. I can't believe I said that to him.

“Skye, who do you think it could be? The mole?”

“I should be asking you,” she shrugs, “It's gotta be one of the ZPD Officers.”

“Hey, just because we're not some fancy spy organization doesn't mean we'd betray our oaths like that!” I huff.

“If an Officer like Nick could get caught up in the Sanguinis' plots, you think your other brothers in blue are any more immune?” Skye says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye, “Besides, you've served with the ZPD for what, a year? And that's only the ones you know from the Savannah Central precinct. Fact is you don't know any of them.”

“Well it has to be a ZIA Agent,” I insist, “I mean it. You guys are the experts when it comes to all this espionage stuff. _And_ you guys are the ones who have the most access to all the classified info on internal operations.”

“I've fought with most of the Agents on the task force. I've known them for _years_. Besides, you don't need to have clearance if you can use tech to get access to classified intel. Adrienne's drones were hacked, and if that little stoat's babies could get compromised that means the ZPD's networks might've been breached. Who knows what bugs could've been planted around the place recording Jack's conversations with me or Elkredge?”

Just then, down the hall I see the last two mammals I could've expected.

Two brown bunnies stare back at me. The first is wearing a blue autumn coat, his eyes wide and violet like mine. There's a bit of authority in that gaze, but it's the warm, loving kind. The sort you would trust when they speak up at a slumber party or are leading you along a path on a hiking trip. The other is a bit stocky for a doe... _butch_ , even. But there's an earthiness about her, and the expectant glow of someone who's about to start a whole new life. She isn't wearing her engagement ring though.

“Cory?” I blink, “ _Dixie?_ ”

“Sis!” they say together as they rush towards me.

“We've been so _worried_ about you!” Cory says as he grips my paw. “You didn't answer your phone, you haven't been checking your text messages...”

“We know you're busy with this task force but you _could_ at least call!” Dixie huffs.

“I- I... um...” I gulp at the onslaught of worry from my two older littermates. “How did you guys know to find me here?”

“We called the ZPD, obviously!” says Cory, “This Clawhauser fella said you were in the hospital. Guy wasn't too clear on what that meant. I was scared out of my mind when he said that!”

“What's _happening_ , Judy?” Dixie presses. “The way everyone acts when we bring up your name... it makes it seem like you did something wrong!”

“You know how scared we were?” Cory adds. “You can't just cut us off like that!”

I blink at the two, not quite knowing what to say. The way they're talking... it feels as if I've been living in the City for too long. As if I'd forgotten what it meant to be a rabbit from Bunnyburrow.

If my ears hadn't drooped back with my mood everyone would be seeing how pink with shame I am right now. I knew I'd cause a ruckus when I went rogue with Jack Savage, but I hadn't expected to have to face up to the result so _directly_.

That's when Skye rolls past me on her wheelchair. Her muzzle curves into a coy little smile.

“I think I can get back on my own, Hopps,” she says. “Well, I guess you and Wilde have one thing in common, at least.”

 

~~~~~

 

We're back at the motel the room ZPD had helped me secure. The ZIA are combing through my apartment right now, looking for any other clues or bugs that Jack might've missed when he first broke in. Luke had called me of course, asked me to stay over at their place like I had done before when I needed some emotional support. But with Benjy in the hospital, and me being kinda complicit in him getting nearly _killed_... it just seemed wrong.

“So... Nick's in some kind of trouble with the law?” Dixie asks, scratching her head.

“Please don't ask me for more details,” I sigh.

“Yeah we know, classified stuff...” says Cory with a resigned grunt. “We heard something about you being in the middle of a terrorist attack. What's that about? My God, Judy! You know if Mom and Dad knew you'd get directly involved with craziness like this they never would've let you off the farm!”

“Oh stow it, Cory,” Dixie gives him a firm shove. “Judy can do whatever she wants. Besides it sounds... exciting?”

I know my sister is trying to make a show of support, but it's clear she doesn't know what to make of it either. If she knew how many times I'd nearly gotten killed in just the past _week_...

Having to swallow those particular details leaves me with a sour, twisted-up feeling in my tummy. Dixie gives me a firm pat on the back.

“I don't mean to sound like Mom but... have you been eating properly?”

“Yeah...” adds Cory. “You look kinda thin.”

“I'm fine! I promise guys, I'm fine...” I hop off the bed just so I can get a little personal space.

“Sis, you know the both of us are just worried. Especially with news that Nick... that he got into trouble.”

“Yeah,” Dixie adds. “I mean, the way you and Nick got along... we'd never seen anything like it. It made Herb super self-conscious that he wasn't being romantic enough with me.”

“Are you serious?” I shake my head. And to think that on our visit to Bunnyburrow _I'd_ been the one who'd gotten so worried that me and Nick weren't meshing right. “Where's your engagement ring anyway?”

“Tucked away because I know the last thing we should be talking about is me and Herb. We're here for _you_ , Judy.”

“Look guys, I appreciate you two being here, I _really_ do but...”

But what? What could I do? Just brush them off? Tell them not to worry when any sane mammal looking at my situation from the outside would worry? Oh Nick... this is just a tiny hint of what it's like being you, isn't it?

“Judy... is Nick...” Cory says, trying to probe the issue as gently as possible. “Nick... he isn't some sort of criminal, is he?”

“He's...” I wince. “He's _complicated_.”

Though Skye had understood completely what I meant by that, Cory and Dixie glance at each other in confusion.

“What does that even mean?” Cory asks.

“I mean, he _seemed_ like such a great guy...” Dixie scratches one ear awkwardly. “I'd hoped he'd visit for the holidays, but if he did something serious...”

“Judy, you aren't gonna stand by him, are you?” Cory asks. “I mean don't get me wrong he seemed like the right guy, but... this is serious! And don't you tell me being with him isn't dangerous. Because you didn't have to get sent to the hospital over nothing!”

“I... uh...” I gulp. Cory stands up, putting an arm around me. Dixie comes in to pat my arm.

It's so hard to see my siblings like this. Cory had always been the upbeat, down-to-earth one, always willing to see the best side of a mammal, even when it came to Gideon Grey and Travis. Apparently he'd been the one to get Mom and Dad to go into business with him. And Dixie... she's tough as an old boot and even more of a tomboy than me, because unlike her I'd never gotten as proficient in tractor repair.

Usually their little touches and hugs are so soothing, but right now with them all worried like this I'm feeling a bit smothered.

_That_ thought makes me a bit more self-conscious. Was this how Jack had started? Just started pushing away those around him, rejecting the natural urge us bunnies have to huddle together for comfort? Seeing what he was capable of had sent a chill down my spine. If this is the first step towards becoming him I wanna reverse course fast.

“Judy...?” Dixie asks gently. “You haven't... _bonded_ with him, have you?”

Cory winces. “Yeah I was kinda trying to dance around that...”

“Wh- why do you think that?” I squeak. I mean, even between bunnies bonding isn't something that just happens over the course of a few months. It takes years. Decades, even.

“Uh, we have eyes? The two of you have the same sort of chemistry that Aunt Hazel and Uncle Arnie did,” Dixie crosses her arms.

So that's why they were asking if I was eating right. When Aunt Hazel died Uncle Arnie was so completely distraught. He'd forget to eat, and he'd just lie on his side of the bed he used to share with Aunt Hazel. If mom and her littermates hadn't intervened so aggressively he might've died from his grief.

“Look, I'm fine!” I say, turning to them. “Really! I don't need an intervention right now!”

“Judy, please... we're not saying you aren't capable of doing whatever work needs to be done at the ZPD,” Cory takes my paws in his, “We're just saying you need to let other mammals handle it instead. Right now you need to look after yourself, because if you actually _have_ bonded with Nick and that bond's... not doing so well...”

“There are way bigger things to worry about than my personal life,” I say to the both of them. “You guys... I can't just let this lie! Something big is going on here and if I don't find out what's happening it's going to drive me crazy. Because honestly, if Nick is involved then I gotta know what it's all about. I can't just _forget_ about him!”

Innocent or guilty... I can't forget.

Cory sighs. “Well, there's no convincing you when you get like this. This is the pudding incident all over again.”

“Oh don't bring up the pudding incident...” Dixie says, rolling her eyes.

“I thought you were _over_ that!” I huff.

“Okay look, what I mean is...” Cory waves his paws like he's trying to brush that old chestnut under the rug. “If you _really_ need to see this through, fine. We'll support you. But you have to keep in touch with us. And you _need_ to promise us that this is gonna be over soon. Because once it's over, you're coming straight back to Bunnyburrow so you can recover from... from whatever this is.”

“I'm sure the rest of the ZPD and the ZIA can deal with what's left. You gotta remember the world's bigger than those two departments, even if they seem to be playing tug-of-war for your attention,” Dixie adds. “There are other mammals in your life, you know.”

What she said sets something off in my mind. It's like a switch has been flicked on, and everything's becoming clearer.

There are other mammals at the Precinct. Ones who were neither ZPD or ZIA. I'd mostly written off Jack's initial accusation as paranoid, but right now I have to have _some_ starting point to work from.

“Uh oh, she's getting that look again.”

“What're we gonna tell Mom and Dad?” Dixie winces.

“Probably not something good, Dixie,” Cory sighs. “Probably not something good...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author commentary, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Hey guys! I'm headed out for a week-long vacation starting Wednesday, but I have a backlog of like four chapters I wanted to release gradually while I continued writing. I'll consider putting another chapter out early next week though, since I already have a substantial backlog as we get closer to the end.
> 
> Like I said before, I can write combat scenes, I just don't enjoy doing so very much. I was really eager to get to this chapter though... Judy's confrontation with Nick was pretty cathartic, and the grim scene with Elkredge was another great challenge. I wanted to strike a solid balance between sympathy and menace, and for now I'm leaving Elkredge's true motivations up in the air here.
> 
> I also tried to write Skye as a softer counterpart to Nick. Psychologically she's got her shit together way more, but she still has that mischievous attitude and a certain insight into how to break down plots and intrigues. Which makes her the perfect mammal to bounce ideas off of.
> 
> I'm pretty sure I mentioned this earlier, likely in the previous story... the thing about bunnies and bonds. Pet rabbits have a tendency to become VERY attached to the bunnies they're partnered with. They're happier with company, so generally rabbit owners want to get them a buddy to live with. The bonding process takes a while since both bunnies have to work out their territorial and work out their dominance behaviors, but once they settle in together they can get very close. Problem is, when one of the partnered rabbits dies the survivor can suffer a severe emotional shock (this also occurs in my fav Zootopia fancomic, Zistopia). They may wander around the house looking for their old partner, become severely depressed, and eventually just starve themselves to death.
> 
> Throughout the story I wanted to show Judy as being very trusting towards Nick, but in the last few chapters you may have noticed that she's been exhibiting a few quirks typical of this kind of withdrawal. Which means that part of the reason might not just be her optimism talking, but a bunny-oriented emotional bond. And that's what Cory and Dixie are worried about.
> 
> Also, I wanted to show how Judy here is starting to stray further and further from her traditional bunny habits, in the dissonance she's now experiencing between herself and her family which is more used to a simpler, more down-to-earth lifestyle. Having to navigate the social complexities of such a diverse population in Zootopia has changed her significantly, to the point that she can no longer connect with her littermates as well as she used to. 
> 
> When I first started writing this story I wanted to make sure to treat the characters involved not simply as humans in animal bodies. I wanted to give them psychological elements more typical of their species while also treating them as a rough analogue to how we humans relate to society. Hence the necessity of Doctor Conall, who is a specialist in mammalian instincts and how they complicate a person's relationship with the world. He's kinda the voice that highlights this element.


	47. Digging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conall offers Judy a macaron, Nick's first day in prison, Judy has dinner with Tarquin Vash

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

I do wish I had the convenience of my personal office.

It seems gauche to use cafeteria mugs and not even bother to wash them myself. Yet another instance of falling prey to convenience over class. But I can hardly be expected to transport my tea set all the way here to the Precinct.

I place the upturned mug with the rest on the cafeteria tray and pack up the remains of the oatmeal biscuits I'd selected for Officer Aries. My tea snacks are not so delicate as my porcelain, but the variety I needed to ensure I could meet the tastes of all my patients was a bit daunting. I'd had to compromise somewhat here and there, something I find quite distasteful, but it would have to do.

Just as I begin to sort through my boxes of macarons to find the right flavor for my next patient, a familiar scent tickles my nose. It's warm and creamy. Sweet, even. With a subtle earthiness that I'd come to appreciate.

“Good afternoon, Officer Hopps,” I greet her without even looking up. Normally I would address my patients with their first name to provide some familiarity, but it feels as if she is here in a somewhat more official capacity. “I'm afraid I haven't the time for a social call. I have to compile my notes and prepare to greet my next patient.”

“I'm afraid this is more serious, Dr. Conall. I'm here because...” she takes a deep breath, and I detect a spike of stress pheromones, bitter on the palate. “because I need to ask you some questions.”

“Do you now?” I say, adding a touch of warmth to my tone. The edges of my mouth peel back in a smile, though of course I take care not to bare any fangs. “This must be quite serious. I'm not accustomed to being questioned by one of my patients.”

“I'm sorry, but this is bigger than our... our doctor-patient relationship, Dr. Conall. I hope you don't take this too personally.”

“Not at all,” I let my smile slip just a hair. “Please, do be as forthright as you wish.”

“When Jack Savage attempted to commit suicide, you seemed... unusually well-equipped to sedate him like that,” she begins. “Like you knew it was coming.”

Ah, there it is. A faint tingle of fear, sharp and woody like anise seed.

“Of course,” I shrug. “The fact is, when the Vulpes Sanguinis first became a threat to Zootopia twenty years ago I had just begun my practice. I saw the mental toll it took on the investigators at the time, and I went to ZIA Director Seraphine immediately when I first heard rumors that they were returning.”

“Wait,” Hopps interrupts, “How _did_ you know the Sanguinis were coming back? Most of the officers here had never even heard of them.”

“I learned the same way I suspect the ZIA did,” I say simply. “I listened to the right mammals.”

“And I'm guessing these mammals who mentioned rumors of the Sanguinis returning... they were your patients?” she asks, her suspicion sharpening to a point. “And protected by doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Perhaps.”

“That sounds awfully convenient.”

“One of the little bits of tension between my field and the ZPD's, I'm afraid,” I shrug. “That said, I was concerned that we would see similarly severe mental stresses with the joint task force once the Sanguinis became involved. It seems my fears were, unfortunately, quite well-founded. Fortunate that I made preparations to deal with acute psychotic breaks, wouldn't you agree?”

“And those preparations also included carrying sedatives on your person, just in case?” Hopps' eyes narrow, and her scent becomes more prickly.

“Naturally. You're free to ask Director Seraphine to confirm my story if you wish. I'm confident she'll agree that my precautions were quite reasonable. However,” I put up a gentle paw, “If I may preempt you, Officer Hopps... I believe I know what this is about.”

“Oh?” she asks, keeping her arms folded behind her back. Though she tries to maintain her composure, I can smell the growing tension on her.

“You, like Agent Savage, believe there is a Sanguinis mole in the ZPD,” I explain with silky smoothness. “Not an unreasonable concern, though it would be surprising given the rigorous screening procedures the ZIA had in place for the task force. But you also believe Jack's earlier... I hesitate to call them 'ravings,' but you'll forgive me if I maintain that it is an accurate term. You should remember as well as me or Agent Elkredge that Jack had suffered a severe psychotic break. He had only recently discharged a firearm into his temple, and was subsequently suffering from a concussion and severe paranoia.”

“And yet he was still lucid enough to identify three Sanguinis henchmammals who'd tried to kidnap him in that ambulance.”

“Certainly. And quite lucky that he had. But this doesn't make him sane, Officer Hopps. Especially when you consider the context in which that accusation occurred,” I give a polite nod. “But I must say, you're treading on old ground. The ZIA has already treated the matter with utmost seriousness, and they've been looking into my activities from the past three months. Both Bogo and Seraphine will tell you that they found nothing. Which, I'm sure my patients will agree, comes as quite a relief.”

Hopps hesitates. Ever since she stepped into my makeshift office she had been at a severe disadvantage. Courtesy is an aegis stronger than steel in a conversation, and I have kept mine well-polished. Each question out of her mouth is a breach of proprieties between a doctor and his patient, and any mammal civilized enough to ascend to her position in our government would instinctively want to preserve this decorum.

I smile. It is nice to know that in the end, class _will_ triumph over convenience.

“Dr. Conall...” she says carefully, “even if you were investigated, it seems like you may have slipped under the radar because of your long professional relationship with both of our departments.”

“And why wouldn't that count in my favor?” I let my smile slip somewhat. “That long professional relationship was built on years of trust and dedication with all parties involved. To put it simply: they trust me because I have _earned_ that trust.”

Hopps sighs, and her shoulders slump as she looks away from me, mulling over what I had just said.

“I'm sorry, Officer Hopps. But if there is a mole, I'm not the one you're looking for.”

“I hope you'll understand if I don't just take your word for that,” she says, turning away. “If I'm wrong, then I hope you'll accept my apologies.”

“Without a doubt, Officer Hopps. Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

She leaves with a carrot cake macaron, though she seems to have forgotten about it completely by the time she's out the door and simply holds it in her paw. When she rounds the corner the smile melts from my face. The warmth recedes back to the little mental toolbox I keep it in.

I place the box of macarons next to all the rest and close the door, taking a moment to mull over the situation. Though the ZIA and ZPD had both been quite thorough in invading my privacy, my unique talents allow me to evade even their monitoring.

However... Judy Hopps had proven herself time and again to be a resourceful little doe. She's been able to find clues where older, more experienced mammals couldn't, locked in conventions as they are. This has suddenly became even more dangerous.

Frisk must be told. Judy Hopps must be stopped before she gets any further.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

I hate prison orange.

It isn't just the fact that it's a fresh reminder of my new lot in life. It's the fact that it just barely refuses to blend in with my fur. It's in this weird uncanny valley of being just a shade off, and just makes me look flat and terrible as a fox.

In a way I can thank Agent Stripes for the fact that no one here really recognizes me. The bruises beneath my fur, the swelling here and there from that beating he gave me... when the guards escort me to my cell there isn't the usual hooting and hollering or banging on the bars when a cop gets issued a fresh orange jumpsuit and a number. Most of the inmates just give a passing glance as I go by, maybe one or two of 'em lick their chops, eager to get a taste of fresh meat.

I'd caught a little glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror. Hell, _I_ wouldn't even recognize me. Even without the bruises my winter fur is coming in all scraggly. I can't remember the last time I'd brushed. With how unkempt I'm looking and the hideous orange shirt and pants I can't help but think I must be an immense disappointment to my dad. He'd always tried to teach me the importance of being well-dressed in this world.

“ _Don't you ever give other mammals an excuse to look down on you,_ ” he'd told me once. “ _And most importantly, don't you ever let others tell you what you're destined to be because you're a fox._ ”

I might've picked my apartment out in the Rainforest district, but the fact is the _real_ jungle starts here. Instincts I'd buried for a year now begin to resurface. I'm trying to get a feel for the social hierarchy, to ride the subtle undercurrents of power. It's in the way some prisoners will avert their gazes just a touch quicker, bow their heads a little lower to others. Those are the ones you gotta be careful around. Some of those big shots will expect you to give them a wide berth, while others will demand the new guy pays homage.

The fact is, when foxes get sent to prison one of two things happens. Either they do really _really_ well in here, or they do really _really_ badly. I mean, sleazy reputation? Relatively small mammal next to a bunch of big, strong criminals? I mean, there's only two ways for you to appease the other inmates if you step the wrong way as a fox. Three if you're of the female persuasion.

Right now I feel like someone must've slipped me something, because I'm kinda just floating through the line of blue-painted prison bars and beige walls and orange jumpsuits in a haze. My mind's ticking away all the little details though, taking note of all the prisoners who'll be regulars in my new life and how I'll have to behave towards 'em. But it's like the real Nick Wilde is someone trapped deep down inside, an observer just along for the ride as my body goes on autopilot.

Now and again I catch myself pawing at my front. The complete lack of a tie is disconcerting to say the least. Double-Windsor knot. Always a Double-Windsor. Perfect wedge. Need to look good. First impressions are so crucial when you're a fox, because other mammals are gonna take one look and judge based on that.

Don't give them a reason to think the worst of you...

“'Ey!” a familiar voice calls out to me. “If it ain't Nicholas Wilde... one of the punks who put me in here! Where's that lil' thumper you had with ya, eh?”

A scraggly-looking weasel sidles up to me then, in the same prison orange as me. His crooked nose and bent whiskers look as if he'd gotten his muzzle caught in a screen door a couple dozen times. Those red eyes of his are just _brimming_ with delight at seeing me.

Duke Weaselton. Oh, no...

I look away, trying to ignore him. But Duke just circles around, chewing on an old toothpick as he tries to catch my attention. “You're lookin' like shit, Wilde. What're you in for?”

I look down at the dirt. _Don't answer him_ , I tell myself. _Don't confirm anything_.

Silence. The last refuge of a con artist. When all the lies have fallen flat.

He leans in, leering. I can smell the unpleasant stink of unwashed weasel, like he hadn't bathed in days. “Not feelin' social eh? I almost feel sorry for ya... y'know? But then I remember all those times you'd strut around acting like you were better 'n me, when fact is you were the same piece of trash mammal from Happytown in a crappy shirt and a two-dollar tie. Noooow lookatcha.”

I feel his paw jabbing me in the chest. But still I keep my expression flat. Neutral.

“What? Not happy to see me? Well I think I know someone who'd like ta see _you_. 'Ey! Someone give Greasy Carl a call! I think he's gonna like what an ex-cop has gotta offer h- _hurk!_ ”

A shadow looms over me, and Duke starts making a gagging sound as he's lifted into the air. His arms and legs are flailing around, and it'd almost be a comical sight if it weren't for the two timber wolves staring down at me.

“Hey! No physical contact!” one of the guards yells in our direction.

“Yeah, yeah,” the gray wolf says, nodding to his white-furred partner. The latter tosses his quarry aside.

“Buzz off, Weaselton,” he sniffs, cracking his knuckles, “Jeez it's gonna take a ton of soap to get the stink of him outta my paws.”

“Gary?” I gulp as Duke scrambles away. “ _Larry?!_ ”

“Hey Mr. Wilde,” Gary shoots a toothy smile. “Hey now, don't worry. We're not here to hurt you or anythin'.”

“Pretty much the opposite, actually,” Larry chimes in. “We were hired to keep an eye on you, make sure the other inmates didn't give you any trouble.”

I blink. “By who?”

“Dunno,” Gary shrugs, “but the guy said his name was Jacob. Just phoned us up yesterday, offered us two hundred thousand bucks each. He wanted us to tell you that he'd take care of everything, so you don't have to worry.”

“Dude, don't say how much! It's _rude_!” Larry jabs his partner in the ribs.

Gary snorts, “You know that sort of attitude about money talk just makes wage negotiation harder for everyone.”

“Oh like we've got job opportunities lined up for us on the outside!”

Gary rolls his eyes before looking down at me, “But yeah, don't worry your little head about the whole Cliffside Asylum thing last year. We're a couple months away from finishing our sentences, and honestly it hasn't been that bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” Larry sniffs. “Rich asshole like Lionheart gets lawyered up and he's out in just a few weeks, while decent blue-collar wolves like us get left footing the bill.”

“Hey at least we're gonna come out of this nice and golden.”

They continue yammering at each other like the idiots they are, but the name rings in my head. Jacob. That's my dad, isn't it? No... no he's supposed to be John Wilde. Dad died _years_ ago in a car accident. A hit-and-run. He'd been trying to get a loan for the tailor shop he wanted to open together...

I still remember that day we'd been thrown out of the bank. Dad had helped me nurse my bruises on a park bench, laying my head in his lap the way he always did when I started crying. He'd put one arm over my body to hold me, and the other patted my head. His paw was soft and warm...

“ _It's all right, Jellybean..._ ” Dad cooed, and his mouth had curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “ _You didn't do anything wrong. Just let it all out, okay?_ ”

“But I _did_...” I whisper. “I did _so many things_ wrong...”

I can still taste the blueberry Freezee he'd bought me afterward, a treat to help comfort me once I finished crying. Dad had always spoiled me, even though we didn't have much in our family. I'd thought the world of him.

But then I'd come home from school one day, and mom was crying. Adults didn't cry, I'd always thought. That was just kid stuff you grew out of eventually. She'd held me close. Told me what happened... and the fact that she could be so vulnerable... that an _adult_ who was supposed to be able to handle _anything_ wasn't that much stronger than me after all...

And then there was the awful black tie. The bone-white shirt. Me, crying in front of a mirror as I tried to figure out the Double-Windsor knot that dad had tried to teach me. I hadn't cared about it at the time. I hadn't really listened. But in front of that mirror wearing that shirt it seemed like it was the most important thing in the world.

And then he'd stepped out of that alley that one terrifying night, with his prim tailored suit and stiff posture, and a voice that was only a cold echo of the one I remembered. There'd been so much _warmth_ in him back then...

“Uh, Mr. Wilde?” Larry asks. “Are you all right? You're kinda mumbling to yourself.”

“Oh geez, um... what do we do?”

This can't be happening. This isn't my _life_. It's some horrible nightmare I've fallen into, and I need to get out. I need to wake _up_... wake up in Judy's bed, with her sweet scent in my nose, and the feel of her cuddling up to me in the morning.

But that'll never happen again, will it?

“Awww Nick...” chirps a sweet little voice next to me, “I know the first day's rough, but it gets better. Promises.”

I look up into a youthful little face. There's a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes, and he's wearing a genuinely happy smile as he stands over me. He's standing really close too, like he's ready to rub up against me. But as it happens he's just standing there with his paws in his pockets, with a red bandana on his head and the hem of his shirt knotted up on one side so it hugs him tight just above his bare midriff.

For some reason prison orange actually looks _good_ on this fox.

“Heh. Twinsies,” says Chester.

“Hey give him some space, all right?” Larry says, making a shooing motion, but Chester just sits beside me nice and close, pressing his rump next to mine in a way that is both kinda suggestive and kinda not. His tail flicks playfully behind him.

“Hey it's all right!” he giggles, “We know each other pretty well. Ain't that right, Nick?”

“What... are you doing here?” I blink.

“Obstruction of justice, eight months,” Chester grins, “Though frankly it's like tossing a bunny in a briar patch. The whole prison is my sweet, succulent oyster!”

“I wouldn't touch him, Mr. Wilde. You might catch something,” Larry sniffs.

“I'll have you know I'm perfectly clean! My old friends at the Downtown Theater Arts Center give me a steady supply of condoms in their care packages.”

“You seem to be doing... _really_ well here,” I say suspiciously.

“Yeah he's the most popular mammal in the yard,” says Gary, sticking his tongue out.

“But not for the reasons you think!” Chester spreads his paw along he sky, like he's smearing a banner over it. “Improv comedy! _That's_ my specialty, you know! That, and impressions. You know everyone, and everyone knows _you_. And thanks to our mutual knowing-each-other I've learned do a _fantastic_ Nick Wilde that just slays the masses.”

Gary snickers, “Yeah, it's a riot.”

“Plus it helps having a... _captive_ audience,” Chester says, giving me a coy little side-eye.

Captive audience. In a prison.

Despite the dark haze I've been floating in ever since I was captured I make a little choking sound. Then a snort. It builds on itself then, the complete and utter absurdity of my situation, and I just laugh. I laugh so damn hard everyone in the yard must be staring at me right now, and it feels so damn _good_.

“Yeah, you stick with me, Nick,” Chester says sweetly, hooking his arm into mine. “You'll be all right.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I make a point to dress quite plainly when I head out. Not casual exactly, but not too formal or alluring either. I've got a simple long-sleeved blouse on with dark pants and a gray winter coat. As I walk up to the glitzy restaurant though I begin to wonder if maybe I had under-dressed for the occasion after all. Even this late into the night the place is filled with fashionistas and celebrities. I think I even spot Gazelle at one of the back tables.

Looking down at my outfit, I feel kinda self-conscious. I hope the wait staff won't turn me away.

 _Canard Bleu_ is supposed to be one of the top restaurants in the city. The waiting list is months long from what I've heard, but now that the Sanguinis threat had been mostly neutralized and the ZPD's resources so strapped keeping the rest of the City on lockdown to catch the stragglers, there was little room for Tarquin Vash to hide at the Precinct anymore. Which suited him just fine, since he's now returned to his position as District Attorney.

That, of course, meant he wanted to celebrate.

Despite my fears though, the lion _maitre d'_ greets me with the same warmth everyone else seems to be getting. Leading me through the dimly lit restaurant and its quiet chatter, he brings me to one of the private dining rooms far in the back.

“Judy Hopps,” Vash says with a happy smile as he greets me in a dark blue suit. He's neat and prim, his light peach-colored fur well-brushed and glossy, his claws freshly manicured. Even the way he moves is with deliberate grace, a sort of neat and professional step and posture that would surely leave an impression in a courtroom. Every trace of that frazzled, mortally terrified fox I'd run into months ago is gone.

“District Attorney...” I greet him as I enter the private dining room. “Have you been all right?”

“If you think I should be worried about my safety, please don't be,” he smiles. “The Vulpes Sanguinis' resources have been drained to the dregs, and they have much more to worry about than assassinating a lawyer who snubbed them. Seraphine protested, but at this point I think I finally feel safe enough to enjoy freedom once again.”

“I... hope you understand this isn't a social call. I'm here to ask you some questions about the Sanguinis case.”

I'd approached Vash and asked him when he was next available to talk. But given that I'm now on administrative leave and Vash is catching up with a bunch of cases that'd piled up in his absence, he didn't have any room to put up with unnecessary calls. Yet he had made a point to squeeze me in, and of all things, Vash had insisted we get dinner together while we talked.

I shift uncomfortably. This seems like far too much for a simple police interview. It would've felt like crossing a line even if he'd just treated me to coffee, but there was no way he would speak to me otherwise.

“Of course, my dear,” he says with a polite nod, pulling my chair out for me. “But I simply _had_ to thank you for the boxes of blueberries you'd been so kind to provide for me. I mean, such quality! They helped keep me sane in my self-imposed exile. I swear, if I'd known that ZIA protection meant that I would be eating fast food day in and day out, I might've begged the Sanguinis to just shoot me and be done with it.”

“Well, what I mean is... I'll be asking some rather... _challenging_ questions.”

“I'm a lawyer by profession, Officer Hopps... may I call you Judy?” he chuckles. “If I weren't prepared to face tough questions I would never have been able to get through law school, much less become District Attorney. I do hope you don't mind that I took the initiative of ordering for us.”

The waiter who enters is a jaguar carrying what looks to be a very expensive bottle. He pours a generous glass for each of us. I'm much more of a carrot juice or margarita gal, but there's a pleasant aroma like walnuts and vanilla to the wine when I sniff it the way Vash does.

“Monteblanc oaked chardonnay, a 2006 vintage. An excellent year,” he breathes. “It's as if it's welcoming me back to civilization.”

“Mr. Vash...” I begin, taking a small taste of the wine. It really does have a complex aroma and flavor. “You said that when you first encountered the Vulpes Sanguinis they had murdered a vixen you were with.”

“Sheila Snow, yes...” he says sadly as he sips from his glass. “She wrote for Chomp magazine. I'd been planning on taking her here, you know. Sure it would help further her career, which I realize sounds crass. But she... she was very refined for a vixen so young. Or at least she made a good enough show of it. Not that there's anything wrong with that of course. Refinement is always an act mammals put on to impress others, though some adopt it into their natures over time.”

“I'm- I'm sorry,” I shift awkwardly. Gosh, he's making me feel like a rookie again.

“Oh don't think that talking about her would put me off my meal,” he says, a little smile twitching at the corners of his muzzle. “In fact, I would like to dedicate this moment to her memory. To Sheila Snow, plucked from this world far too early.”

I clink my glass against his as I try to get the full measure of this fox. I've only met him a few times, and then our interactions had only last a few minutes. He's always come off as very courtly, just brimming with honest confidence too. Though Vash had called refinement an act, it was one that seemed to come naturally to him like it was a seamless part of his character.

“What was it that the Sanguinis wanted from you, exactly?” I ask.

“That brute Sebastian Dusk...” he scoffs. “He'd demanded I help secure the release of twenty-one mammals from Highwatch. But I'm sure you know that already... Rufinius Frisk had his Praetors, but they would be wasted on more menial tasks. To hear the ZIA tell it, he always recruits his thugs locally, and that meant bringing in those mammals who had no lives to return to outside of prison.”

Vash swirls his wine, pondering. “Sometimes I think that our prison system would serve the public better if we'd work harder to reintegrate former criminals into society. But instead we lock them away to feed on each other, where they become ever more poorly socialized and unstable. Quite a vicious cycle really, to lock convicts away in an institution that will turn them into even worse criminals.”

He gives me an expectant look.

“I think that I have more pressing questions, I'm afraid.” Was Vash trying to distract me? To guide this conversation down a path of his own choosing? The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, as if miffed that I hadn't taken the bait.

The waiter returns, this time with two dishes. “ _L'entree_ ,” Vash declares, “An oyster and autumn leek chowder for me, and for you a caramelized carrot risotto with brown butter. Please, enjoy.”

I stir at my risotto a bit, but while it smells delicious I refuse to be distracted. There's a rich and earthy aroma, nutty and sweet. “But it was a week before you came to the ZPD for help. Why?”

“Why else?” Vash sniffs. “I was terrified for my life, Judy. The Smiler has a _very_ grim reputation, and I'd combed through enough old case files to be acquainted with his work.”

“Which case files were those?” I ask.

Vash shrugs as he savors his chowder. “Honestly it's been so long, I can't quite say.”

“Nick always said that foxes have good memories.”

“And I reserve mine for the dozens of the cases I must sift through daily. But wherever I learned about his work... well, it'd stuck with me. It'd stick with anyone.”

“Mr. Vash, you'll have to excuse me, but I've looked into your background. And it seems like a lot of your records from before the 90s are only secondary copies.”

His eyes flick over to meet mine. Was there something he was hiding in that cool gaze of his? Foxes are just so damn hard to read, with a totally different body language from us bunnies. But after being with Nick for so long I thought I'd picked up a hint of Vash wanting to keep something hidden.

“Yes, I'm aware of the problem,” he says, lowering his spoon. “Made things quite inconvenient when I applied for college. Oh _do_ try the risotto. I know for a fact that it is _excellent_.”

I take a deep breath. It's about time to confront him more directly.

“Mr. Vash... have you heard of the Great Infiltration?”

“Of course. But do go on.”

“Apparently in 1992, the Public Records Office in City Hall had been infiltrated by unknown mammals,” I explain, “Over the course of several months they systematically destroyed the public records of thousands of Zootopian citizens. Some say it was executed by one of the First Families.”

“I would say it's no mere suggestion,” Vash nods. “It _had_ to have been one of them. Zootopia's public records were in the process of being transferred permanently over to digital media, and the First Families wanted to recede back into the shadows. To have the ability to shroud their identities. Not like it would help someone as high profile as Rufinius Frisk himself of course. Or Hayder Leonis.”

“So what I'm saying is... it comes off as kinda suspicious that _your_ records from this period are missing too.”

“Oh Judy...” he chuckles. “I hear historians have estimated that up to a third of Zootopia's wealthier families were affected by the Great Infiltration. The First Families had to shred the documents of a sizable chunk of the population's records if they were to hide among us after all. You might as well accuse Gazelle of being descended from one of them.”

That much was true of course. But I can't help but think that it's mighty suspicious of Vash to know that little detail offpaw.

“So why did you eventually choose to come to the ZPD for help, Mr. Vash?”

He looks at me as if slightly offended. “Why, my robust sense of ethics of course! Those monsters had murdered a vixen, one who I had started to grow _quite_ fond of, no less. They'd wrapped up her body in the bedsheets right after we'd finished... using them. And they just...”

His paw trembles on his glass. “They just took her away. To dispose of her like she was garbage. But she _wasn't_ , Hopps. She was bright and beautiful and so _comfortable_ around me. You don't know how hard it is to find a vixen like that in my position. Sheila... she was one of a kind.”

He sniffles.

My ears droop. I really am terrible at this interrogation thing. I'm too nice to push as far as I need to go, even if I suspect the one I'm questioning might just be a really good actor.

“No... I'm fine,” Vash says as he composes himself. “You're fine. I apologize, Hopps. I thought I'd come to terms with it. But you must surely realize that even if you suspect I am somehow linked to the Sanguinis, both the ZIA and the ZPD investigated my claims thoroughly before I entered their protection. Besides, I have a fifteen year history of serving this City in my capacity as a lawyer! I risked my _life_ coming to the authorities with word of their coming. I know I delayed, and I'm ashamed to say I wasn't as courageous as I should've been. But if you'd seen what they did to someone you loved... you would hesitate in doing the right thing, too.”

I wince inside. That sounds too much like one of the excuses Nick would've given. I can't possibly forgive him for not doing the right thing, but when I think about it I'm not sure I can treat him as a complete monster either. Life had just gotten so incredibly _difficult_ with this case.

No. Focus, Judy. Don't be swayed by his personal appeals. Don't get sentimental.

“But Mr. Vash... Tarquin...” I say, pressing on. “Why did you go to the ZPD for protection? Why not stay at ZIA Headquarters instead? I mean even with Elkredge's security measures surely it'd be the safer place to hole up in.”

“My biggest weakness is my need for creature comforts, Judy,” Tarquin says, swirling his wine glass for emphasis. “And I despise the ZIA's fondness for brutalist architecture.”

“So living in a cub interview room for these past few months is your idea of creature comforts?”

“Yes, well... I'm afraid I underestimated the extremes the ZPD and ZIA would go to to ensure my safety above my comfort. And their utter contempt for letting me enjoy the finer things in life. Still, it was convenient for me to stay at the ZPD. I could make full use of the law library there.”

“Even though you weren't dealing with any cases?”

“A fox must keep his mind well-honed my dear.”

The Incorruptible Tarquin Vash, they'd called him. The most honest fox in Zootopia. I hadn't caught him in any lies, not any outright ones at least. But there was something about him and his story that didn't quite fit.

“But here's the thing...” I say, leaning in, “Chief Bogo had been griping about you escaping the joint custody of the ZPD and ZIA. Multiple times, apparently. Supposedly because you wanted to get a proper meal at a local bistro.”

“Yes, well. If you've had to endure as many Bug Burgas as I have in the last three months you would do much the same,” he chuckles. “Though I must say I'm not entirely proud of evading my handlers. So much effort to keep the wrong mammals _out_ , but there are certain blind spots when it comes to keeping them _in_. Exposing the weaknesses in the ZPD's security grid... well, that was rather rude on my part. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass those who were trying to keep me safe.”

“I think it was more than that, Tarquin,” I lean in, my voice hardening, and I'm jabbing my finger into the tablecloth. “I think you came to the ZPD so you could keep an eye on the task force's movements. But now and again you needed to escape. To get away from their monitoring devices. Because you were under a protection detail you knew that your phone calls and computer activities might be monitored, so I think you needed to get out and get messages to certain mammals of interest.”

“An interesting hypothesis,” Vash says, straightening up. He really does look like he belongs in a courtroom now, ready to make his case before an unseen jury.

“I mean, are we supposed to believe you went through all that trouble just to get a decent _meal_?”

“If you need to ask, then you have seriously underestimated my gluttony,” he smirks. “Besides, haven't you heard? I'm the most honest tod in the City.”

“I need to know, Mr. Vash...” my paw drifts down, fingers just touching the handle of the concealed tranq gun I'd brought. I don't expect him to attack me, but after everything I'd been through I need the protection. “Did the Sanguinis come to you again? Did they hammer out a deal with you in the week before you finally went to the ZPD?”

“Ms. Hopps...” Vash sighs. “I told you I rejected them outright.”

“Have you been passing information to the Sanguinis?” I say, and my heart is racing now. The tears are welling up in my eyes. I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know who to trust. And now I feel like I might just be acting like a total _jerk_ to a mammal nice enough to treat me to a fancy dinner, but could I believe in his story? Could I _really_?

Tarquin Vash leans in then, putting a paw on mine as if to try and comfort me, when a dart sprouts from his neck.

For a moment I stare in shock and confusion. I hadn't taken my gun out. I hadn't even disengaged the safety. Mr. Vash's eyes are bulging, and he stares past me with a look of pure terror when I feel a sharp pinprick at the back of my neck.

My paw shoots up, and I feel it, just above my shoulder... the casing for a tranquilizer dart.

The sound of my wine glass shattering against the floor is a distant thing.

I'm trying to move now, to stand up and defend myself. But the drug is working through my system at a rapid pace, and I'm in this weird limbo between panic and a sweet, oppressive calm, like I'm being smothered in a thick blanket. It seems so natural now to just roll out of my chair and pool onto the floor, gazing up at Tarquin Vash as he claws weakly at the tablecloth. His eyes are wide and glistening with tears, and his mouth opens and closes, begging an unseen figure for mercy.

“ _D-don't kill me..._ ” he whimpers, even as the strength bleeds from his voice. “ _Please don't kill me..._ ”

My vision's starting to go dark when the figure looms over me... the outline of a fox in a business suit. A suit that I just know is lined with kevlar fibers. I'm trying to raise my sidearm, but it's like trying to swim through honey. His paw catches my wrist and presses it ever-so-gently into the floor. The tranq gun slips from my fingers.

“ _Shhh... just go to sleep, Ms. Hopps..._ ” he whispers in such a warm, sweet voice as I begin to slip away. “ _Everything will be all right..._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I have to say, I love me some Gary and Larry. There's a good dose of fanart out there with the two of them together just being buddybros and I kinda like the fanon dynamic I'm seeing of Gary being the goofball and Larry being the more sober one.
> 
> And yay Chester makes another appearance. I love this little guy but I need to bring him out sparingly otherwise he loses his impact. His presence helps brighten things up when things get too heavy, like a squirt of lemon in Hollandaise sauce. I also wanted the line "Heh. Twinsies" of his to mirror his greeting when he first met Nick in Benjy's apartment in the preceding story arc. When I write his dialogue I always imagine him with a sharp lisp which helps me keep a bit more bounce in the actual lines.
> 
> It's nice to finally get to revisit Tarquin. When I first wrote his dialogue I was worried he would sound a touch TOO poncy compared to how I wrote him in previous chapters, but thinking about it it may just be an artifact of him having a much longer conversation here.
> 
> We're heading to the crescendo, so for those who are still trying to figure out the precise sequence of events this is your last chance. :)


	48. Prodigal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to have a talk.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I am going to die.

The thought is humming inside me, to the point that it's become the background noise to everything else in my mind. There's substance to it, a thick weightiness inside me that's crowding out everything else. My body is shivering beyond my ability to control it, and it's like the trembling is rattling around this big leaden core that keeps telling me:

I am going to die.

Plastic straps have been wrapped around my wrists, binding me to the armrests of a bunny-sized metal chair. The same is true of my ankles and knees, not to mention the broad strap over my chest and the one around my middle. I'm blindfolded, and a rubber bit had been pressed between my teeth. Just a few more straps and I'd be cocooned like a juicy fly, bound in a web and waiting for the spider to drain all the life from it.

I'd like to think that as a ZPD officer I'm better than this. That I'd be able to stay focused and brave even after being kidnapped. I'd fight back. I'd resist. But after these three nightmarish months my emotional resources are completely drained, and I feel so _alone_. Jack Savage's reputation had turned out to be a lie. Benjy had nearly been killed. _Twice_. And Nick...

“ _You think I care about my own life if staying safe means_ _ **thirty**_ _mammals are gonna die for you to 'protect' me?_ ” I'd snapped at him. “ _You should've just let them_ _ **kill me**_ _to save everyone else!_ ”

Would that be the last conversation I had with him? Would that be the last thing he remembers when he thinks of me?

I'd talked up such a big game then. I mean, I'm a cop. Every time I go out on patrol I know I'm gonna put my life on the line in service to the City. I know that there's a chance I won't be coming back home in one piece. But in every scenario I'd imagined it was something quick or incidental. A perp who'd panicked and pulled out a gun at the last moment. Being struck by an oncoming car in the middle of a chase.

Not like this. Not so slow and deliberate and unsure. In the space between this breath I'm taking and the last that rattles out of my throat there is so much that could be done to my body. So many ways to make me _hurt_.

I'm so _scared_.

Will they ever find my body? I can almost see the memorial service... my friends and family crowded around my casket, Chief Bogo delivering the eulogy. They'll say I was a hero. That I died in service to the badge. But it'd all be a lie, something said to comfort my loved ones and to give my death meaning. The fact is, there _is_ no meaning. Not to this.

I want to live. Oh please, I want to _live_...

I let out a choked sob.

Mom and Dad come to mind, the way they'd been so worried when I first joined the force. And then Cory... always so sweet and supportive and down to earth, even when he didn't understand my decisions he always tried to trust my judgment. Dixie... so dependable, you could always trust her to get something done on the farm when it needed doing.

Stacey. She'd always been so flirtatious, and like me she'd dreamed of moving to the City, but she knew she didn't have the kinds of skills to make a real career here. Frankly I'd always been afraid that without Cory to help tame her wild side she'd get into so much trouble in Zootopia. Clover... my youngest sister, but the bookish one of our litter and the most traditional. Buster, the jock and the youngest of us. He always needed to be told twice to put a shirt on.

My other siblings' faces drift in my memory, one after the other, but always bumping around the edges of that central thought. That awareness that, long or short, these would be my final moments.

Please... please, no...

“Hush...” a voice says to me from the darkness. And a large, fox-sized paw cups my cheek. “Please calm down, Officer Hopps...”

“Mmph...” I sniffle, straining against the bonds. “ _Mmph..._ ”

“Shhh... don't worry. I apologize for the rough treatment, but I needed to speak to you one on one, and I know you wouldn't listen to me otherwise. My name is Jacob Cornelius Frisk, and I promise you... I give you my _oath_ that you won't be harmed. There are no threats here... no demands. I'm just asking you to listen. Once you've heard what I have to say, I'll let you go unharmed. But regardless of whether you hear me out or not... I promise that within an hour you'll be free to leave.

“After all... my son is so desperately in love with you.”

 _Nick_.

My chest heaves with my breaths. Our last words together... I'd been so mad at him. So hurt and scared and upset. I'd wanted to hate him for everything he'd done. Everything he'd refused to do. But at the time I couldn't, because deep down I still did love him. The fact that I couldn't really hate him like any normal, sane mammal could... that'd just made me more upset and scared and angry with him. And with myself.

But what this... this Jacob Frisk had said gives me pause.

Nick's dad. It's impossible. He was supposed to have died when Nick was a kit. When Jack said that Nick was Rufinius Frisk's grandfather I'd just thought the link had been severed there. But his dad... the one he'd said was so sweet. The father that Nick had worshiped in his youth... he's standing right behind me now, patting my head and trying to reassure me that everything is going to be all right.

“I am going to remove your gag now...” he says softly. “And the blindfold. Please... I ask that you don't scream.”

Even though I know he must've taken me someplace remote or abandoned, someplace where no mammal would've been able to hear me scream, the urge to belt out a big one still wells up inside me. I gulp when I feel deft fingers undoing the cord at the back of my head, and I clench my jaw to preemptively swallow any shrieks I might let squeak out. My teeth linger on the rubber bit for a moment when he tries to pull the gag from my mouth, and it's only when I make a great effort to relax that I let it go.

A thin line of saliva trickles down my chin.

“Is... is this some kind of trick?” I say, half-choking on my words. My insides are still shivering. “Are you just trying to get me to trust you so you can brainwash me? Break me?”

“No tricks, Officer Hopps,” he says as he undoes my blindfold, “No more lies.”

I blink, my eyes still bleary with tears. When the fox circles around though I know he's telling the truth. Jacob has a strong resemblance to Nick, from his bright green eyes to that narrow muzzle. He's also got a slim, lanky build, but I can tell there's a strength and deftness in his fingers that Nick doesn't quite have. Those are the fingers of someone who'd been a tailor.

“Hello,” he says simply, and his smile seems genuine. There isn't an ounce of his son's mischievousness in his eyes. And his voice is so soft for a fox. While Tarquin Vash had a confident earnestness in his tone, Jacob sounds like the kind of tod who would hold a child and hum while rocking him to sleep.

“Where's Mr. Vash?” I ask, glancing around the room. I'd very much expected him to be slumped unconscious in a seat next to me.

“He should be coming around by now. I'm quite certain the ZPD has been contacted and he's now recovering and being questioned,” he says as he undoes the bonds at my wrists. “Would you like your weapon back? I've removed the clip, so you won't be able to dart me if that's what you're thinking. But I'd like to make sure you're comfortable.”

I've encountered that flavor of consideration before. “Do you happen to know Dr. Isaac Conall?” I ask suspiciously.

“Afraid I haven't had the pleasure,” he shrugs. “You'll be fine without a physician though. Standard tranq dart.”

“Nick... he told me about you,” I say as I scoot to the edge of the chair. I have to admit, even though it seems a bit patronizing it does feel good to hold an unloaded tranq gun in my paw. I rub my wrists and ankles to work the blood back into my limbs.

If something goes wrong I might be able to hold my own. Worst case scenario I could still pistol-whip him. But while I'm still nervous my instinctive fight-or-flight response doesn't seem to be kicking in. I'm not about to trust him, not completely, but he hasn't made a single dangerous move ever since I came to.

“Nothing too spiteful, I hope.”

“The opposite actually. Nick loved you very much. He was really broken up when you died,” I say. “He told me he sometimes had dreams of you... the two of you are on a park bench, and he'd have his head in your lap. You always held him like that when he was sad or upset.”

The self-deprecating smile melts from his face then.

“I'd almost forgotten about that...” he says in a moment of shock. He doesn't seem quite so in control of the situation anymore. “It's an awful stereotype, the absent fox father, you know. I'd tried to break with the cliché, but... life had other ideas for me.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**John Wilde - 1995** _

 

_I sipped my cocoa and stared out the window at the drifts of snow. Snow had come to the Downtown district early, with the holiday season just around the corner. I wasn't sure how we'll be able to put a proper meal on the table this Thanksgiving. The Weaseltons had invited us over the previous year, and I'd hoped to return the favor out of basic courtesy._

_I rubbed the side of my head, trying to put the most recent loan rejection out of my mind. How many times has this happened already? I'd known perfectly well that this'd be a difficult process, and I'd prepared accordingly. I'd worn my best shirt... one I'd personally tailored of course. I had my portfolio of my male mammalwear designs. I'd even brought Nicholas along to help with the presentations. He was the most adorable kit in the neighborhood... in my eyes, at least. Surely his cute little face would've helped win over at least some of those stuffy old bankers._

_It'd been a year since I'd quit my job at the department store. A year since I'd been passed over for a promotion for the fourth time and told my manager to stuff it. Being out of work for so long, chasing this dream... even if I started looking for another retail job now it'll be twice as hard to get hired, and certainly not in time for Christmas shopping._

_Vivian had been pulling overtime to help make ends meet. She'd tried taking it in good stride, playfully joking about the real reason I'd been dragging my feet when it came to getting Suitopia up and running._

_“Oh be honest now,” she'd said with half-feigned frustration. “You just love dragging Nicholas all over town with you.”_

_“Hey, our lil' Jellybean is a great little ad manager. You should see how the bankers think twice before bringing out the red stamp when he's around.”_

_“All while I'm staying 'till 9:00 at the diner, getting pinched by strangers when I refill their coffee.”_

_“Me and the Jellybean appreciate your sacrifices.”_

_“Oh shut **up** , John,” she'd laughed. “It's true, isn't it? You're more jealous for **his** attention than of me getting felt up!”_

_“Well of course I'm jealous! You got to have nine months more time with him than I did!”_

_I can't quite laugh at it now. I could see the stress Vivian was under, the way she'd come home so late at night too tired to have dinner with us. Sometimes I'd have to tuck Nick in well before she came home. I'd sit at the dinner table working on my portfolio and tinkering with my sales pitch. The moment she came through the door she'd toss her keys in the ashtray and make a beeline for the couch while I made some chamomile tea for her. She'd thought it was considerate at first, but now it was just another reminder that one of the few things her husband was good for was brewing tea._

_I'd taken odd jobs of course. Mostly from the neighbors who knew about our situation. They would go straight to Mr. Wilde to get their pants mended or their shirts adjusted. Some would even come in for the simple act of getting their measurements done and thank me with ten bucks in return. I didn't need to hear the whispers to know what was going on. Charity work, all of it. But as painful as it was I'd swallowed my pride and took their help with a grateful smile, hoping that one day soon it would all end and I would be able to stand on my own two feet._

_There were other ways to get money of course. The amount I needed would've been a pittance to Gramps. But while going back to retail would've been selling the last scrap of my dignity, going to the Prince would've meant bartering my soul._

_I opened the portfolio to begin a new set of sketches, and to my surprise the first page isn't one of my designs. Instead it's one of Nick's art projects from school... a brown paper turkey, its tail a fan of red, orange, and yellow construction paper cutouts of his pawprints._

_Clever little kit. I'd asked him to stay home for this one. He needed to catch up on his homework, I'd said, when the truth was I hadn't wanted him to see his old man fail to secure a loan from yet another bank. Yet as usual he'd seen through my ruse and had known I'd need some cheering up._

_Taking a fresh sheet of paper with a printed silhouette of a wolf, I began. Maybe I **have** been pushing a little too hard for the high-end fashion market. Something a bit more casual, a bit more **young** might be more salable to mammals who had a hard time reconciling the image of a fox with one of refinement. The grunge fad, as with all others, would be declining in popularity soon enough. The trick to anticipating what'll come next depends a lot on paying attention to current music and pop culture trends._

_It wasn't really my thing, but I might as well give it a try. After all, I had a construction paper turkey staring at me with its little googly eyes. I couldn't disappoint **him** too._

_I lingered in the little coffee shop for a couple more hours. I told myself it was to focus on my design shift, though if I had to be honest I was still a little too ashamed to go home so early. Nicholas would've been alone in the house for quite a while by now, but then again latchkey kits were the norm these days._

_“Here ya go, Mr. Wilde,” the teenage weasel said. She set down a fresh cup of cocoa in front of me._

_“Oh! Thank you Donna, but I didn't order this.”_

_“It's no problem. Actually, I was hoping to ask fer a favor. Dad kinda needs the seam for his jacket mended. Think ya can take a look sometime?”_

_Ah. This again._

_Forcing a smile I nodded. “Of course. I'll visit him this weekend.”_

_Granted, I was drowning in free time well before then, but I could at least maintain the appearance of being busy._

_Taking this as my cue that I've been loitering for too long, I downed the second cup of cocoa as quickly as I could. The first I'd bought was a way to console myself after today's failure... a treat I could very ill afford. The second cup is the exact same stuff as the first- Donna prided herself on consistency when she prepared drinks- but it tasted cloying now, and the marshmallow bits went down in unpleasantly sticky lumps._

_With my portfolio under one arm I headed out._

_I'd been halfway through my first cocoa when I realized that purchasing the little self-indulgence now meant I didn't have enough change to take the train home. Sighing, I mulled over my mental map of the City and tried to figure out which bus lines might take me back without too many transfers. Good thing us foxes have such great memories. It'll be quite a walk to get to the right stop, but if I started now I should be back home within an hour._

_Just as I began walking though, I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. Like I was being watched._

_Zootopia had always been a safe place to live. Sure it had its seedy underbelly. Every city did. But most of the crimes were petty in nature. Yet the news of late had begun to reveal cracks in the peaceful facade of Zootopia. All those mysterious deaths and disappearances, particularly among Zootopia's elite. I didn't want to know what it meant, but surely I had to be safe._

_I was just a silly little tailor from Happytown._

_I glanced over my shoulder, holding my portfolio tight against me. No one there. Don't be afraid, John. It was just the wind and the chill and your sour mood ruining things. But the two cocoas I'd had sloshed uncomfortably in my stomach, and I let out a queasy little hiccup._

_I quickened my pace and clutched the portfolio close to my body just as a black van zoomed past me, whipping up a flurry of fresh snow. Maybe I should turn around and head back to the cafeteria. I could settle my nerves, maybe borrow their phone and call someone to pick me up. But a little voice in the back of my head was saying “ **No, John. Stop making your friends go out of their way for you**.”_

_The bus stop. It was about six blocks away, so if I just kept-_

_When I rounded the corner, I spotted the black van again. The side door was open, and large, broad footprints led out in opposite directions._

_Oh no. Oh, this wasn't supposed to be happening... oh **please** -_

_I spun around, thinking to race back to the late-night coffee shop when I slammed muzzle-first into something heavy. Instinctively I muttered out an apology, even as frightened as I was, but when I gazed up at who I'd bumped into my blood ran cold._

 

_~~~~~_

 

_I let out a wet cough and whimper, curled up into a little ball on the floor of the warehouse._

_My vision was blurry. One of my eyes had swollen shut, and my nose had yet to stop bleeding. The side of my mouth ached with the heavy bruises that'd begun to form, and I could taste the nauseating sweetness of my own blood. A couple of glossy white chips, like smooth porcelain, laid next to my face. It took a moment to recognize they were fragments of my own teeth._

_“P-please stop...” I begged, clutching my left paw. “I-I think you broke my arm!”_

_“Oh I'm **so** sorry, Mr. Frisk,” the lion purred as he loomed over me. “The last thing I want to do is cause any **harm**.”_

_“M-my name...” I gasped. Each breath felt like a knife was twisting up my insides. “is John... Wilde...”_

_“ **Bullshit!** ” he roared. “You're a fucking Frisk, fox.”_

_“Heh,” one of the other lions said with a smirk. “Alliteration.”_

_“You sure about this, Aswad?” said the third, “The guy said he was just a tailor. You look at the folder he was carrying?”_

_“Yeah, I'm sure,” said the lion in charge. “Son of Rufinius himself.”_

_He looked to be in his early twenties, with his mane still not fully grown out. But he'd been wearing a business suit that was much too expensive for a mammal of his age to wear. And certainly more expensive than any working-class parent would buy for their son. While I would normally applaud Aswad for his excellent taste, the suit had been less a matter of looking good and more an issue of looking powerful._

_Even when he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, the young lion **oozed** menace._

_“No... no, please...” I whimpered. “This is a **mistake**...”_

_“No, **you're** the mistake,” Aswad snarled. “Fucking inbred trash mammals think you get to run the city. We're the Leonis Pride, motherfuckers.”_

_“They literally **are** , aren't they?” the third lion chuckled._

_“Yeah, Frisk,” said the second. “That what you like to do? You fuck your own mother?”_

_He kicked me in the side, hard. I felt something break inside me, a sickening crunch that shouldn't be coming from within my own body. When I coughed again something thick and bitter came out, and it burned the back of my throat._

_“Shit. Cool it, Tarek,” the third lion said. “You know how fragile these little shits are.”_

_The worst part was that earlier on they hadn't even been using their full strength. Aswad and his cronies had been practically toying with me. That they could beat me bloody while barely exerting any effort on their part... it just showed the vast gap in power between us._

_“Yeah, we're gonna work you over nice and slow,” Aswad said, crouching down next to me. I could feel his hot breath on my face. “Unless you wanna fess up and tell us your **real** name.”_

_But I could no longer speak. It took everything I had just to keep breathing. Several of my ribs had been broken, and each moment it was getting harder to stay conscious. I was going to die here in this warehouse. Vivian and Nick.... what'd they do without me?_

_“Whatever,” Aswad huffed, “Frisk or not, I don't even care anymore. Let's finish this.”_

_I heard the click of a knife unfolding._

_Though Aswad Leonis obviously wanted me conscious for whatever he was about to do, I could no longer stay with him. As those thick lion fingers begin to pull down my pants, my last thoughts were of Nicholas, and the little construction paper turkey he'd made for me._

 

_~~~~~_

 

_Pain._

_It pulsed all around me. It was a hot, thick haze of dull throbs, of sharp and itching wounds. I felt it in patches and lines along my skin, in the cores of my bones and even my lungs. Someone was whimpering, and in a half-conscious fog of pain it took a while before I realized that it was me. I was burning up from the inside, even as I thought that the air was so cold and dry and the blanket was so uncomfortably thin._

_I blinked. My vision was fuzzy. Had it been one long nightmare? No, my injuries had to have come from somewhere._

_My wounds had been cleaned and stitched and bandaged, My left arm was in a cast. My face was still swollen with bruises, and it'll take a while longer for me to heal, but I was in one piece, though in a great deal of pain._

_I remembered the knife then, the lion paws fumbling at my small belt._

_My paw trembled... **was** it my paw? It seemed so thin and feeble within the cast, and my forearm hurt so much. But with a great effort I brought it over the mound of my thigh and cupped myself between my legs. Still intact. Oh thank God, still intact..._

_But... no, the Leonis had... who'd saved me?_

_“And so the prodigal son returns...”_

_And that's when I truly woke up. That voice... sharp and courtly, like the sound of a razor being honed. It was a voice I'd tried to forget these past fifteen years._

_“D-Dad...” I croaked._

_“Interesting. Is that how you would address me now, after you abandoned your filial duties so long ago?”_

_“Dad, it's me... it's-”_

_“Oh yes, I'm well aware,” he sniffed. “'John Wilde.' If it weren't for the Great Infiltration you never would've been able to secure that alias.”_

_He was older now, and the gray fringes along his muzzle were coming in thick. There was still a sinewy strength in the way he stood however, and his golden eyes pierced me like awls. The suit he wore, a paisley pattern of Tyrian purple and black silk, was as garish as I remembered._

_“You are fortunate that the Praetors found you in time,” he said coldly. “The Leonis Pride has waged war against us. **All** the First Families are at war.”_

_“But why am I here?” I whimpered. “Why did the Leonis target me? I- I haven't done **anything**. I left when I was **sixteen**!”_

_“The Pride's campaign against the Vulpes Sanguinis has been relentless. Look beside you.”_

_Turning my head I saw a black fox on the bed beside me. His face was heavily scarred, and he looked like he'd wasted away significantly. The fox was vaguely familiar... like one of my cousins from one of the branch families. But I couldn't place the name, not after I'd been away for so long. Not with the pink lines crisscrossing his face and marring his features._

_“This one was not as fortunate as you,” Dad walked over, and placed a paw on that dark scalp. “He's been in a coma for over four months after what the Leonis did to him. The doctors are unsure whether he will ever wake up. Yet for some reason they hadn't castrated him like he'd done to the other Praetors they'd captured... an outrage, this mutilation. And a grave insult meant to denigrate our fine breeding.”_

_Dad shook his head, “So many fine foxes have fallen to the Leonis. Your aunt and your uncles, my older siblings... they hadn't seen the signs that I had. They had been among the first to die. Many of your cousins and their families too. Such a waste...”_

_“But- but the Prince...”_

_“I am the Prince now,” he turned his gold eyes towards me, and they seemed to fill the whole room. “Your grandfather passed away in his bed. Not peacefully, I'm afraid. He died moaning of our fresh troubles, filled with regrets over the mistakes he had made in life. But he died intact, in the Twilight Cathedral, because I did my filial duty and **protected** my family.”_

_With a heavy sigh Dad continued, gesturing to the comatose black fox. “The Praetors the Leonis captured... all of them were tortured like this. It's quite possible your identity was leaked to them that way. And Aswad Leonis... that fucking **pig**... well. I wasn't about to let him continue slicing off the nuts of every Frisk he caught. Sebastian is taking care of him now. I will give it three days or so before I allow him to die, and then I plan to treat him in kind... Hayder Leonis will receive a box with his son's head, his boy's mouth stuffed with the cocks and balls of him and his brothers.”_

_“No!” I yelped, sitting up. Instantly I regretted it, with the pain that stabbed through my side. “N-no, dad! You- you can't do that!”_

_“And why not?” he mused, picking up a folder from the table beside me. Dad flipped though my portfolio, filled with all my suit designs. My recent sketches. Nick's construction paper turkey. None of it impressed him. “This war has gone on too long. It's clear that there shall be no quarter. I plan on exterminating everyone that moves against us. I will burn their family trees down to the roots and salt the earth of their empty estates. Their bones will be as dust in the desert, feeding nothing. Their names shall be forgotten completely. **Damnatio memoriae** , boy. **Deus vulp**.”_

_“Dad... dad **please**. This is insane! If you do this the Leonis might retaliate! My **family**!”_

_“Oh yes...” he said, looking down to the black fox again with a half-lidded gaze. “Family. **He** had a family once as well. Do you know what happened to them? Before she died his wife felt a pain that could only be given by a Leonis. Barbed penises, you see, much like their feral ancestors had. A distinctive and rare trait among cats these days, but one that is a mark of the Leonis bloodline.”_

_My heart raced. I shook my head. The thought off Vivian... sweet Viv being taken by the Leonis... she'd worked so hard to support my dream. Came home so late that she barely saw Nicholas now._

_“His kits were much too small. They'd been drowned. As quick and easy as it comes. But... how old is your little bastard now? Eleven? Twelve? I suspect Hayder himself might take a liking to the young tod. And when the Leonis Pride is finished with your family they will die screaming into the darkness, never knowing why they're being murdered. What's left of them will be rinsed down the drains and into the sewers of this city. Hydrofluoric acid leaves nothing to be buried.”_

_In the back of my mind I knew he was trying to manipulate me like he did with everyone else. It explained the hair-thin drip of morphine, barely enough to take the edge off of the pain I'm in. It was to keep me vulnerable, unfocused in my agony and unable to push back. But Dad never lied._

_The **Prince** never lied..._

_“Protect them...” I gulped. “ **Please** , protect my family!”_

_He simply stared at me, those gold eyes of his cold and impassive._

_“I'm begging you, Dad...” I whimpered, clasping both of my paws in front of myself. “Please! I'll... I'll do anything! I'll come back!”_

_He sniffed. “Surely you can do better than that. Beg me, boy. **Beg** me to not simply leave your whore wife and your bastard son to the lions.”_

_For a moment I stared at him. Surely he can't mean..._

_But no. This had to be done. My fingers trembled as I unhooked the IV. I winced with pain as I scooted to the edge of my bed. I placed one foot down on the floor and the moment I put any weight on it I could feel my insides creaking, my surgical scars stretching. But gingerly I lowered myself to the ground, nauseous with agony._

_I crawled towards him on my paws my knees. Every inch forward sent glass shards through my guts, and it felt like gravel in my joints. Every bit closer my bruises sang with pain so sweet and terrible I thought I might just bleed through my fur right there._

_And once I came to his feet I gripped his pants gently, prostrating myself before the Prince._

_“Please. I beg you... **please** protect my family,” I stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I'll do anything you want, Father. **Anything**.”_

_For a long, dreadful moment my father stared down at me. In my mind's eye I could almost see Nicholas being dragged from his bed, see Vivian screaming for me as massive golden paws gripped her..._

_“Very well,” the Prince said, placing a paw on my bruised scalp. “Let it not be said that I am not merciful. I give you my vow, as a Frisk and as the Prince, that no harm will come to your family. So long as in exchange you join the ranks of the Vulpes Sanguinis again. You will not contact your family. You will sever all ties, right here and now, and focus all your efforts to preserve the Sanguinis and the Frisk line. I already have a suitable mate selected for you.”_

_“B-but...” I gulped. “That... surely that isn't necessary...”_

_He continued as if I hadn't spoken at all._

_“There should be a body in cold storage; one of your cousins. With a little augmentation he should resemble you well enough. It will look like the result of a car accident. This...” he held up my portfolio. “Will be planted with the body as identification.”_

_I reached out for it. No. No, please. Not my drawings. Not the art project Nick had left for me..._

_“As of this moment, John Wilde is dead, boy. Now what is your name?”_

_I was sobbing. I couldn't see through the haze of tears. The paisley pattern of his jacket and his matching pants had blurred into a dark purple mist. I wanted to go home and brew my wife another cup of chamomile tea. Charles Weaselton had a suit I needed to mend. And Nick... my little Jellybean..._

_He needed a father._

_“What is your name?” my father asked again. I knew he wouldn't ask a third time._

_I made a wet choking sound. The bruises and broken bones were nothing next to this pain. They'll mend for the most part, but this... **this**... it was like some cold spoon had slid into my chest and scooped out my soul._

_“J-Jacob... Frisk...” I sobbed._

_“No...” the Prince said, patting my scalp. “No... you are the **Prodigal**.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author comments, spoilers ahead!)
> 
> Well, not really spoilers. Just wanted to say I'm posting this from vacation right now and squeezing in some writing time as I enjoy the tropics. Believe it or not my original plans were even more grim, but I checked my weirdly high tolerance for pain and scaled it back.


	49. I, John Wilde...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions and revelations abound.

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

“I'm... I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened to you. To _anyone_ ,” I sniff. Nick was so young when it'd happened, but he'd known how much pain his father was in, trying to secure to secure a loan as a fox. Hearing Nick describe how the world just wore down his Dad little by little, and that they all just had to accept it as _normal_...

But this. I can't even begin to understand this.

I'm sitting on the edge of the chair now, the bonds undone and with an empty tranq gun in my paw. Nick's dad is just crouching in front of me so I can talk to him eye-to-eye. He seems so _relaxed_ , that despite the situation I'm not as nervous as I probably should be.

“Mr. Wilde... was that what Nick went through?”

He looks pensive for a moment, when his mouth curves into a sad little smile.

“No one's called me Mr. Wilde in years,” he sighs. “But... no. Not exactly. My father was much more cruel when he was younger. I know, I know... that's saying something. He's still an evil bastard, but the years have tempered his efforts at manipulation. With Nick he'd wanted to be more subtle, more insidious. But the end result would've been the same.

“I've... done things in my life, Officer Hopps. Things I never would've thought I was capable of doing. Things I thought I'd escaped and forgotten about when I decided to go out on my own as a teenager. When my father drew me back in... I didn't change overnight. But each step he led me down seemed just barely reasonable. Each one seemed both so small and so necessary to protect my family. But by the time I realized what I'd become, it was too late for me to turn back.”

My grip tightens on the unloaded tranq gun. My paws tremble.

“I- I'd like my ammunition back,” I say.

But all he does is chuckle. “All in good time, Officer Hopps.”

“Mr. Wilde, I- I know you've been through a lot. But the law is the law. And I'm a police officer! I hope you're not expecting me to just be satisfied with your explanations and let you off the hook. Not when so many mammals have died!”

“No... not at all. I expect that after we finish talking you'll arrest me. I'm fine with that. But what I'm asking is for you to help my son.”

I shake my head. “I can't. I just... can't. Not with him complicit in the Sanguinis' activities.”

“You know... that is precisely the trap Rufinius had hoped you would all fall into,” Mr. Wilde says, leaning back and looking thoughtful. “And that was exactly how he tried to influence Nicholas. He knew that using too much brute force and too many threats would turn my son against him immediately. But the soft touch... promising Nicholas that he wouldn't have to move against the ZPD, that all he had to do was come to the Cathedral now and again to train, to stand by. To watch. My father knew that in Nick's mind this sounded almost reasonable, that he wasn't actually betraying his friends. But this whole time it'd been a setup.

“Nick was being watched from both sides, doing a delicate balancing act between Rufinius himself and Jack Savage. He so desperately tried to avoid helping the Sanguinis even as he used his position to feed intelligence to the ZPD. But it was also a tightrope walk that was tilted so that he'd fall in a way that Rufinius expected.

“It was no mistake that my son's position was exposed. This was precisely what my father wanted. The ZPD going after him, thinking that he'd been complicit in the crimes of the Sanguinis... when his closest friends turned against him, Rufinius knew that my son would have no choice but to come to the Twilight Cathedral for his own protection. Nicholas Wilde would be his, without my father ever having to lift a finger or issue another threat.”

I'm feeling a bit dizzy, taking this all in. But could it really be true? That our efforts to capture Nick... all that had been part of Rufinius' plan to get Nick on his side? Was this _really_ a trap we'd fallen into?

“ _That's the one thing you gotta remember about Rufinius Varius Frisk, Hopps,_ ” Skye had told me. “ _His middle name_ _ **literally**_ _means 'versatile.' The old bastard has a lot of tricks up his sleeve and he knows how to use them to confuse his enemies. Don't always trust your first impressions,_ _ **especially**_ _when they're that blatant._ ”

“ _You need to have your preconceptions challenged. The worst advice anyone could give is what you already know._ ”

I shake my head. “But Nick could've surrendered. He should've just given himself up when the ZIA raided his apartment.”

Mr. Wilde raises an eyebrow at that. “A very reasonable thing to do. If you're a bunny.”

Those words cut me deep. After the Bellwether Conspiracy and the attack on Tommy Daywood... I should've known better than to say that. Predators, and foxes _especially_... the way they're profiled, the way they've been treated from they day they're born... the constant threat of being assaulted or killed because of who they are... they have every right to fear the law when it comes knocking at their door. Even if they're innocent.

“But... but Nick _wasn't_ innocent...” I murmur. “When the ZIA tried to capture him, it was because Agent Skye testified that Nick tried to kill her...”

“Why don't you look me in the eye and tell me that?”

“Mr. Wilde...”

“Look me in the eye, Officer Hopps.”

And I do. Green eyes, just like Nick's. That same narrow muzzle, that same slim, lanky build. The family resemblance between them was strong, and if I hadn't known that this was his father, if I'd thought his father was still _dead_ , then a fox who looked an awful lot like Nick would...

“You! _**You**_ were the one who attacked Skye!”

“As I said, Officer Hopps,” Mr. Wilde says, gazing at the floor. “I've done many things I'm not proud of. But everything I've done was to protect my family.”

“Which means...” I gasp, covering my mouth. A fox that resembles Nick, so much so that in a dark hallway, when I'd only been able to glimpse him for an _instant_...

“Nick wasn't the one who grabbed me in the Twilight Cathedral. It was _**you**_!”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde – Half An Hour After the Bombing** _

 

_Oh my God, oh my God..._

_Gramps had loosened the leash a little bit, and I'd gotten the chance to head to a bar. One where nobody knew me, one where I could just melt into the background for a couple of hours and just try to_ _**forget** _ _. Just drown out the memory of what'd happened two days ago._

_Pearl had looked up at me, and our eyes had met as Rufinius choked the life out of him._

_**He'd died because of me** _ _... I kept telling myself. Because I'd helped Jack Savage get away. A bunny for a bunny._

_Even just a glance at the cocktail menu had sent a spike of guilt through me. Cocktails... I don't think I'd be able to even look at one without seeing that little white rabbit again. So many times I'd be depressed while I worked in my room at the Cathedral, and then without any prompting I'd see a mixed drink on the table, made just for me. The fella was just so_ _**quiet** _ _. So eager to please._

_He didn't deserve to die like that. No one deserved that._

_When Savage raided my apartment I was just so damn desperate to show my friends that I was still on the right side of the law. I wanted_ _**so bad** _ _for them to know I was trying to work with them. I mean, I really did, y'know? I'd fed them enough info to capture Woolter Albinus. I'd saved Jack Savage's life. And even though I couldn't do anything at the time, with the bunny auction..._

_Well, they'll learn about **that** once they rescue me._

_But they needed to know._ _**Judy** _ _needed to know that I was still one of them. Dad had warned me about the mole in the task force, but with Savage on my ass and the whole task force about to learn I was Rufinius' grandson... I couldn't let that go. I was so_ _**desperate** _ _for them to know that I was on the right side of things, that I fed them the juiciest bit of info I could provide. Mole or not._

_So I hadn't been surprised when Rufinius learned that the ZIA now had the location of the Twilight Cathedral. He couldn't hurt me though. Not if he wanted any grandchildren. I mean sure he would punish me for this, but so long as he didn't try to get at me through Judy I could take it, I'd thought._

_But no. He'd said nothing when we moved to the new safehouse. Well... when_ _**they** _ _moved. I'd been sitting on my butt, blindfolded and under guard so I wouldn't learn where we were headed. Someone said the Canyonlands, and by the dry mineral smell of the air I'd believe it._

_So here I was now, on a little outing that Gramps had allowed me after some pleading. I sat in a bar in a run-down neighborhood with a glass of Scotch on the rocks. Still thinking about Pearl. Hoping that Judy would be leading an expedition into the Twilight Cathedral. Just raid the goddamn place and overturn it completely. There wouldn't be anyone to capture, but hopefully they'll be able to get enough clues to track the Sanguinis down and rescue my fluffy tail._

_And that was when I glanced up and saw the ZNN news feed on TV._

_My jaw dropped. My eyes widened. Underground explosions. Snipers. Mammals gone savage and mauling cops. Oh no. No no **no**!!!_

_I grabbed my jacket and raced out of the bar. My heart was pounding like it was going to burst. My lungs were on fire, and after only running a block I needed to slow down and try to stop breathing so quickly. It felt as if I was about to pass out._

_All of a sudden, a paw gripped my muzzle and another snagged the back of my shirt, yanking me into the alley I'd stopped next to._

_Before I could cry out the figure shoved a foil-lined trilby onto my head._

_“D-dad?!” I choked out, turning to face him. He was wearing the same hat, the ones we'd been using to block the signals from our earpieces. “Dad... there- there was...”_

_“I know...” he said. His fur was in disarray like he'd been in a fight, and he looked unusually frazzled._

_“You knew about this...” I snapped. “You **knew** about this and you let it happen!”_

_“Nick... I didn't-”_

_“NO! My friends are dying!_ _**Judy** _ _might be_ _**dead** _ _because of the goddamn Sanguinis, and you just stood by and-”_

_“Quiet down!” Dad said, grasping my muzzle. No, he wasn't my father. Dad had never put his paws on me before. This was some evil spirit that rose from the dead and was wearing my father's skin..._

_“Nick...” he said, trying to sound calm. “Nick_ _**please** _ _... I promise you, I didn't learn about it until the last minute. I only realized what Rufinius was planning when I was checking the inventory we brought back from the armory. The old stockpiles of explosives in the Cathedral, the triggers... half of it wasn't there. I went back to the Twilight Cathedral to check up on it, disarm it all if I needed to, and I was halfway finished when I heard the ZIA storming in...”_

_“But... but Judy...” I choked._

_“She's fine. I was able to rescue her, and I led most of the officers to the central chambers where the bombs had been disarmed,” he shook his head. “You really take after your old man, you know. She thought I was you.”_

_I was still panting heavily, but my heart began to slow down. That sharp spike of distress was fading, but a new, oppressive dread was taking its place._

_“She's gonna think I did it. That I sold out the ZPD and lured them into a trap,” I moaned._

_I'd leaked the location of the Twilight Cathedral, left that bandana with Savage, just so Judy would know I was trying to help. But now the exact fucking_ _**opposite** _ _had happened._

_I'd fucked up so bad. And now mammals were dead and dying because of me._

_“I have to turn myself in...” I murmured. “Hell, I probably should've just let Savage capture me...”_

_Granted, there was a ninety percent chance that I would've gotten killed even if I'd put my paws in the air the moment they kicked down the door. Fox being raided by law enforcement? Come on, be honest. You'd_ _**also** _ _be surprised if I_ _**didn't** _ _get shot._

_Of course, if I'd died right there no one else would've gotten killed._

_“If you do that then Rufinius will win. We're so_ _**close** _ _to finishing what we started, but you_ _**need** _ _to stay strong. The Praetors... the vast majority of them were taken out by a new assault squad the ZIA Director cooked up. And the henchmammals are being pacified as we speak. The Vulpes Sanguinis' resources in the City are down to a trickle, and we can still take them down from within if we work together.”_

_“A trickle?” I laughed bitterly. “Dad... they still have Sebastian. And Smythe. And Brutus! And whatever henchmammals are left. Even_ _**you** _ _can't deal with all of that!”_

_“No...” he admitted. “But we're getting close to the end, Nick. I just need you to do one thing for me.”_

_I shook my head. “I already know what you're gonna ask. Judy... she'll_ _**hate** _ _me.”_

_“I know, Nicholas. And I'm sorry. But please, Jellybean. If you trust me, I will do everything in my power to make things right.”_

 

_~~~~~_

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Nick hadn't known.

He hadn't known about the bombs. He hadn't assaulted Agent Skye...

“But... but _why_?!” I ask. We're walking through the warehouse that Mr. Wilde had brought me to. It always seemed to be a thing for criminals, abandoned warehouses. If we just tore down every one of them we might just cut crime rate by half. “Why didn't Nick just tell us he didn't know about it? When Nick was caught he didn't even _try_ to defend himself when it came to that. He could've just... just said...”

“That his father did it?” Mr. Wilde muses. “Nicholas... if he still loved me for as long as you said... can you imagine him ever implicating me like that?”

“N-no... but... he never even tried to say it wasn't him. When I confronted him about Agent Skye, about him being complicit in the bombing... he just shut down _completely_. He wouldn't say a word!”

“Officer Hopps...” he says, turning to me, “You've been with my son long enough to know the two main components of a hustle.”

“There's the distraction...” I say, mulling over all the stories Nick had told me, “And the actual grab. When you execute your actual goal when your mark isn't paying attention.”

“Precisely,” Mr. Wilde smiles. “The distraction... it's probably the part of the hustle that takes the most effort. So much needs to be done to create a smokescreen, a broad effort to catch your target's attention so they don't notice your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“For years I've done my best to fade into the background... play the part of the broken Prodigal. Eager to please, quick to submit to the Prince. But in the background I've been planning things out, considering what allies I had and what enemies I needed to deal with. The most dangerous of which was the mole in the ZIA. The bombing at the Twilight Cathedral was proof of how deadly he was. And it was because of the mole that Nicholas couldn't go to you to help save the bunnies that'd been sold at the auction.”

“So... he actually _did_ attend that...” I say, my ears wilting.

“Again... under duress,” Mr. Wilde reminds me gently. “Though it's not as if he was doing nothing about it. By now he should've found a way to rescue them... something he couldn't do when the mole was in the ZPD. If he'd learned that Nick had plans to present to the ZIA regarding a rescue, the mole would've told Rufinius all about it. Rufinius is ever the responsible businessmammal. He would've warned his clients well beforehand once he got word. And the bunnies, well... the clients would've disposed of them.”

He sighs in satisfaction. “But now that's no longer a problem.”

“Wait... what do you mean by that?” My heart leaps into my throat. “The mole... you know who it is?!”

“Not at first,” he admits. “But this whole time I was trying to work behind my father's back to find that out. He doesn't tell me much, you know. He doesn't trust me enough to let me in on his plans. Everything he reveals is on a need-to-know basis, much as I'm sure that you didn't know everything that was going on in Jack Savage's inner circle.

“Of course, on the side I was also trying to intervene to protect Nicholas' interests whenever I could. The attack on Agent Skye, saving you from the Twilight Cathedral... but this posed a problem. I was trying to keep a low profile in order to investigate the traitor within the ZPD, yet if my father saw me taking such an active role, he would've figured out what I was doing and had me killed.

“And that's where my son came in. If Rufinius was the mark in a hustle, Nick was the distraction. When Rufinius thought that Nick had attacked Agent Skye, he'd had to focus on adjusting his plans around his grandson. When Rufinius believed that Nicholas was the one who'd saved you in the Twilight Cathedral, he placed all his focus on containing my son. And while he was squeezing Nicholas in an ever-tighter grip, my father was blind to me moving behind his back.”

“So... so you know who it is now? The mole?”

“More than that, I've captured him.” We've stopped at a door, and Mr. Wilde motions at it with his thumb. “While my father was distracted by Nicholas, I had the freedom to investigate the goings-on at the ZPD. It was quite a challenge, but it was worth it to snag the most dangerous rogue element here. All the death and destruction... so much of it can be laid at his feet. He was the one who helped instigate Rufinius' plans from within. He was the one who warned Rufinius that the location of the Twilight Cathedral had been compromised. Because of him, dozens of Officers and Agents are dead or wounded. Don't blame my son for what happened with the raid on the Twilight Cathedral, Officer Hopps...”

He places his paw on the door handle.

“Blame _him_.”

The hinges groan when he pushes open the door, and the breath catches in my throat.

I stare at a mammal... bruised and bleeding around the face. His wrists are chained together, cuffed around a large metal post. He's on his knees, staring up at me through a black eye as a trickle of blood drips down his chin.

It's strange, the way he looks without his antlers. But the smell of cigarette smoke around him is overpowering and familiar.

“Hopps...” Miles Elkredge croaks. “Don't believe him... he's... _lying_...”

“Agent Elkredge...” I gasp. “No, it... it couldn't be. He's... he got shot protecting Jack!”

“Yes...” Mr. Wilde sneers. “Protecting Jack. Always making sure Jack Savage survived, so that Rufinius Frisk could one day capture him alive.”

Elkredge... he'd been the one who'd put a blank in Jack's gun. And hadn't he been the one who'd called for an ambulance that night? An ambulance that'd been staffed by the Prince's henchmammals...

“ _You're not the only boss I answer to_ ,” Elkredge had told Jack then. “ _With all the stupid shit you get yourself into, my job's always been to keep you from getting yourself killed._ ”

“ _Not the only boss I answer to_ ,” he'd said. At the time Savage had thought Elkredge was talking about Director Seraphine.

“How do you know?” I ask, turning to Mr. Wilde. “What evidence do you have?”

“I think the more interesting question is how did I get a thousand-pound moose here all by myself?” he says with a smirk, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a plastic bag along with a folded sheet of paper.

“I'd found this disposable cellphone in his pocket when I caught him. He's been routinely deleting his call history, but the cell phone records I was able to acquire match the number for this phone. You'll notice here that the night Jack attempted to kill himself, Miles Elkredge called a number which I know for a fact belongs to a Sanguinis-operated line. This was two minutes before he used his _official_ cellphone to call Director Seraphine to apprise her of the situation.

“But the most telling point here is that at no point did he make a call to a real hospital. It should've been the first thing he did, rather than call the ZIA director.”

Elkredge. It was all Elkredge.

If it weren't for him, Nick could've told me all about his situation without fear of me going to the wrong mammal for help. If it weren't for him, thirty-two mammals would still be alive. When I'd questioned him the other night he'd looked so scared. So paranoid that the wrong mammal might've been listening in. He'd had such a bad panic attack that he'd passed out.

And that's when I notice the white-furred fox, his wrists shackled behind him and chained to the wall. He's kneeling on the ground on the other side of the room, happily humming to himself. Even with the blood coating his muzzle and the side of his face swollen, his laughing blue eyes are still bright.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jacob Frisk – 3 Days Ago** _

 

_“Yes...” Rhona hissed, “Right here, just set me down right here...”_

_“I could get you to a hospital...” I told her, trying to choke back the tears. “I could-”_

_“No... no, please...” she was having trouble breathing. I've seen plenty of blood in my time, but I can't bear to even look at the bandages around her middle. “There's no point t' treatment. Not now.”_

_Not after what Sebastian had done to her._

_“Rhona...” I murmured, stroking her head._

_“I knew the risks, Jacob. I did, aye?” she breathed. “I did good...”_

_“You did, Rhona. You were_ _**amazing** _ _...”_

_She'd helped keep the vixens from getting pregnant. She'd faked the medical tests. Rhona had even altered some of the digital records from Nick's earpieces to keep Rufinius from discovering his real activities._

_“I think...” she swallowed. “I think I'm ready now, Jacob. Let me do it.”_

_My fingers lingered on the syringe when I passed it to her, hesitant to give it up. A high dose of morphine... more than enough to take the pain away._

_“I never should've asked you to help...” I said bitterly. She wasn't a fighter. She was a doctor. A healer._

_“Yeh were always such a sad-eyed tod...” she said as she ran her fingers along my ear. “What vixen's heart would nae 'ave melted o'er that?”_

_I couldn't lie to her. Not now. Not with her dying in my arms. I couldn't tell her that even over the long span of years I still loved Vivian... my first true love._

_But Rhona knew... she'd always known._

_“Yer wife may 'ave had John Wilde...” she smiled as she depressed the plunger into her thigh. “But fer a wee while at least... at least I had Jacob...”_

_Cupping the back of her head, I pressed my muzzle to hers._

_I've seen mammals die. Some quickly. Some slowly. But it's never beautiful, never heroic. And it's always sad. Even as I felt the strength slip from her it's with this aching slowness as Rhona's pulse fluttered and her breathing trailed off. Bit by bit she shut down, and each second that ticked by I was left wondering if I could try to save her. If somehow I could get her to a doctor they might be able to reverse the damage, turn time back..._

_And with each second that passed, I knew the thought became a step closer to being impossible._

_It was a cold relief when Rhona finally fell completely still, and I drew the blanket over her body. My paw was trembling, and I gripped my gun as I headed over to the next room where I was keeping Sebastian._

_I'd checked him for lockpicks and had taken away all his hidden knives. The heavy chains shackling his paws behind his back were looped around a pipe. He won't be escaping. Frankly, I doubted he was even interested in getting away. Sebastian was content as always, just smiling away despite the beating I'd given him upon discovering what he'd done._

_“I take it our dear Rhona has passed?” he asked with a grin. “I'm_ _**so** _ _sorry, Jacob. But you know the Prince would approve. The Vulpes Sanguinis has been too kind to traitors already.”_

_He paused in thought. “Speaking of... is the Prince all right?”_

_“He's no longer your concern,” I said coldly._

_“Ah. I see,” he said, flashing a playful grin. “Well, if you're going to kill me, feel free!”_

_My paw clenched my gun. Rhona wouldn't have wanted me to do this. She wouldn't have wanted more blood on my paws..._

_“Sebastian...” I sighed. “If I do kill you now, tell me... what would be your last words?”_

_“I would think that'd be obvious!” he laughed. “'I'm always **happy** to serve.'”_

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

I stand outside with Mr. Wilde, the metal cuffs locking his wrists together behind his back. He'd wanted to get some fresh air while we waited for the ZPD to arrive. My tranq gun is loaded, and the safety is off. But I know I won't need to use it.

“ _Officer Hopps..._ ” he'd said as he held up the dart clip for me. “ _My son has been falsely accused of my crimes. Will you please help me prove his innocence?_ ”

He seems so at peace now, with his eyes closed and him breathing deep the night air. Here at the docks you can smell the brackish water of the bay, rich and clean and salty.

“Are you all right?” I ask him in a gentle tone.

“More than all right,” he smiles. “After twenty years it's finally over. The Vulpes Sanguinis will be completely extinct, my son will be free... I know what the justice system has in store for me, but for one day at least...”

The tears glisten in the moonlight as they trickle down his face.

“For one day... I was John Wilde again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter commentary, OMG HUGE SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!)
> 
> Whoa now! Nick and Jacob look super duper alike? Elkredge is the mole?! Where did THAT come from? I've been so eager to post this chapter, especially after seeing the comments for ages about how Nick deserves to be executed/raped/given a stern talking-to for what he had done. (Seriously, guys. Not cool.)
> 
> First and most important note here: At no point ever since the Twilight Cathedral, when Nick was mulling over what happened, did he provide any narrative recollection that he was actually there. I only let my readers *assume* it was him.
> 
> Fact is, these little chestnuts had their roots set down VERY early on in the story. As early as Chapter 3 in fact! I think if you flip back and read carefully, it should've been fairly obvious from the outset that there's a strong familial resemblance between Nick and Jacob. Which means the fox seen in the Twilight Cathedral might've been either of them. Same for the fox who attacked Skye. This is especially the case when you consider that everyone on the task force should know Nick's face, but no one knows that Jacob, a Nick lookalike, exists, so seeing a fox that looks an awful lot like Nick should've just triggered the thought "Oh hey, it's Nick." This was the same way that Chester fooled everyone (foreshadowing!!!).
> 
> Let's go back to Chapter 3, far down. Jack Savage is looking at the profiles of ZPD officers, screening them for those who might be suitable for his task force. Elkredge prods him to look at Judy Hopps' file. Jack looks at her known friends and associates, and his attention is snagged immediately by the photo of Nick Wilde, whereupon he offers the vague but obviously interested statement:
> 
> [Well, Mr. Wilde. Hello there.]
> 
> (Incidentally, Elkredge was under orders from Rufinius to get Jack to notice Nick at this point, so this is why Elkredge decided to get Jack to look at Judy's profile. Remember also that Elkredge was the one who recommended Nick and Judy interview the locals at the warehouse fire, and that was where Nick first saw the camera footage that showed his dad)
> 
> Further clues follow in the subsequent chapters, with how Jack is obsessively pursuing this link. From the subtle hint in Chapter 4 when the ZIA Agents first walk into the ZPD [He doesn't slow his pace a hair when he walks past me and Judy, but I do notice past the edge of his black shades that he glances in our direction, just for a brief moment.] To Jack pulling Judy aside, flirting with her to get her guard down, and starting to question her about Nick. ["Now..." Jack says, straightening his shirt, "I notice you're partnered with Nick Wilde. Why don't you tell me about him?"]
> 
> In Chapter 5, Jack cooks up ricin in his preparations to kill Nick Wilde.
> 
> In Chapter 6, Elkredge is under orders from Jack to steal Nick's psych report.
> 
> In Chapter 7, Jack tries to get a DNA sample from Nick.
> 
> In Chapter 10, Jack finally is able to get Nick's DNA tested and the results confirm his suspicions that Nick Wilde is related to the Frisks... in particular, the Frisk who killed his mother. All of that prepwork and pursuit was based ONLY on seeing Nick's photograph. This is only possible if Nick and Jacob very closely resemble each other.
> 
> Further clues were sprinkled around the place:
> 
> Chapter 28: Rufinius mulls over his plot to pit Nick and Jack against each other, so that Nick would be driven to the Sanguinis for protection [The moment Jack Savage saw Nicholas that obsessive little rabbit would've surely recognized the familial resemblance to the tod that killed his mother.]
> 
> Chapter 40: Judy reflecting on the fox she saw, supposedly Nick, in the Twilight Cathedral [And then I see those green eyes of his, haunted and framed in a grim and unsmiling face in the darkness of the Twilight Cathedral. Just that one terrifying glance before he lunged at me, so quick that I barely recognized him.]
> 
> Chapter 41: Milo and Jacob talking to each other [“You know I have a son, right?” he says quietly.  
> “Y-yeah... N-Nicholas Frisk.” I'd been terrified for my life when I realized I'd attacked the son of the Praetor who was training us. When I saw his face on our first day in the Twilight Cathedral I was sure I'd be murdered in my bed.]
> 
> So yes. Nick and Jacob look a lot alike. And everyone was fooled into thinking Nick had been complicit in the bombing to help provide cover for Jacob as he secretly worked to betray Rufinius by hunting down the mole.


	50. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick has a visitor, Milo finds a home.

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

The water from the faucet is always ice-cold, and my fur prickles when I splash some on my face. Gazing into the mirror, I gingerly touch my cheek. The swelling has gone down quite a bit, but the flesh still feels raw.

Prison hasn't been all that bad, actually. With Chester being his chipper old self around me it's kinda hard to get too deep into an emotional slump. Unfortunately his company is more dependent on him coming to me rather than the other way around. When you look for him you don't know if he's gonna be relaxing, doing an improv routine, or stuck in a corner with another mammal or three filling the air with grunts and squelching noises.

Though even when he's unavailable, Gary and Larry are keeping watch over me. I feel at least kinda-sorta safe from getting shanked in the company of these two dum-dumbs. Aside from being approached by Duke that first day no one's tried to harass me, though I have seen others looking at me as if they want to. After all, some of these jokers I'd helped put away. Others I've cheated or otherwise screwed over before I went straight. Even without Savage hell-bent on seeing me dead, I have plenty of other enemies in here.

Prison is a completely alien world compared to civilization on the outside. It's this uncertain limbo of tense hostilities, of fragile and unspoken truces. Say one word wrong and you might set a guy off. A misplaced joke that I'd meant to lighten the mood might start a fight. For a guy who'd once banked on mammals being predictable to be able to hustle 'em, I have no idea how to cope here.

Dad had said he'd “take care of everything.” I hope he isn't trying to engineer a breakout... _that_ prospect had left me awake in terror all night. I'd rolled around on my rickety bed wondering if I'd have to make some insane dash after a dramatic action film explosion that blew out one of the walls.

Worst of all no one had called. Not Judy, not even to interrogate me further. Or Mom, to check if I was all right. Hell, had they even informed her about what was going on? Finnick should've popped in at least to say hi to his old buddy now that he was in the slammer.

But then again... that'd all probably make me feel worse. No way in hell did I want any friends seeing me in prison orange.

Just as I was thinking that though, one of the guards bangs his nightstick against my cell door.

“Wilde, you've got a visitor,” he says.

I gulp when I see the two ZIA Agents with their indoor sunglasses and black suits standing next to him.

“H-hey...” I stutter, “You guys already questioned me. You know I'm not gonna talk. What's this about?”

“Come with us, Wilde,” Agent Bearington says with typical ZIA deflection. His eyes are cold as he stares down at me.

My mind, already frazzled by everything that's happened, starts to search for the worst possibilities. Are they gonna execute me? I haven't even had a trial yet!

With my paws cuffed in front of me I follow my escort. By now everyone here knows that Nick Wilde is in prison... the sellout fox who'd gone cop the moment he made nice with the right mammals. They're rattling the bars now, jeering at me as I'm led through the gauntlet of wild convicts. Paws reach out towards me, making obscene gestures as they call me all sorts of horrible names or, even worse, tell me how shiny my coat is.

I really am too pretty and heterosexual for prison.

They lead me to one of the interview rooms... not the cold concrete interrogation chambers where perps are questioned. This one here's got carpeting and some basic motel-worthy furniture. Some minimal comforts to help ensure that the inmate is at least somewhat relaxed when he's talking to his lawyer.

But I hadn't asked for legal representation. I hadn't asked for anyone. So who could...

Two more ZIA Agents flank the door, each with a shotgun ready. My stomach does a little flip-flop when I see Judy there, this little gray rabbit with her violet eyes. She isn't angry or upset now. Instead she's just wearing a nervous smile as she looks at me.

Sitting behind the table with his paws cuffed together is my father.

“Judy?” I choke out in shock. “ _Dad?!_ ”

“Hey, Jellybean,” Dad says with a sad little smile. All that coldness I'd seen in him before is gone. His mood's thawed completely, and instead there's this warmth in his tone and in his gaze that reminds me of the father I'd known twenty years ago. “We did it, son.”

I stand there, stunned as Judy takes a careful step towards me. She places her paw on mine.

“He... told me what happened, Nick...” she says slowly. “I've talked to everyone. The Mayor, Chief Bogo, Director Seraphine. The District Attorney, too. Mr. Vash is back in office, and he's _very_ sympathetic to what happened to you. Especially since the Sanguinis also tried to recruit him.”

“So... so you know everything then?” I gulp.

“Yeah...” she says, scratching the side of her head. “That you had to make it look like you were the one who did all those awful things. All so your dad could use that as cover while he searched for the mole. That you had to stay quiet about the bunnies in the auction even when you were trying to find a way to save 'em.”

“Carrots, I _swear_...” I say, my voice raw with desperation. “Please, you _have_ to believe me. I wanted to tell you about it so _badly_. But if Rufinius knew I was trying to track his clients he would've warned them. They might've shipped those bunnies off somewhere we'd never find. Or even _killed_ them to get rid of the evidence.”

“I know, Nick...” she says, cupping my cheek. “But... _please_ tell me you know who they are.”

“Every guest at the Carnivale were wearing masks. They'd dyed their fur, spoke in accents that were just slightly off to make sure no one knew who they were... but I found a way...”

 

~~~~~

 

_I sat at the table overlooking the alley where the guests were set to arrive from. Glancing down for a moment I noticed to my surprise that I'd been fiddling with three cocktail cherry stems. Somehow I'd been so lost in thought that Pearl had been obediently replacing my drinks with fresh ones as I finished each one off, all without me noticing._

_I took note of the buzz that was running through me. Yeah, there were about three drinks in me right now._

_My mind was working on Rufinius' plots. Trying to figure out his motives and what he was up to. The murders of Jesse Lyserod and his crew were fresh in my mind, and I had just figured out_ _**why** _ _..._

_Rufinius could've all done it stealthily. But he hadn't. No... on the contrary, he_ _**wanted** _ _the ZIA to notice. He_ _**wanted** _ _the ZIA completely occupied trying to hunt down the Vulpes Sanguinis. They'd take their eyes off the ball and in the meantime Woolter and Doug would think the other had done it. They'd go underground and make it even harder for the ZIA to find 'em. Plus they'd be stocking up on weapons for sure._

_And... you know what? I'd bet that Rufinius had a head start on tracking these weapons sales. All so he could follow the trail of breadcrumbs back to the sheep._

_Hmm. But how to inform the task force about this? Especially if the Sanguinis was monitoring me? I knew for a fact that the ZIA was now monitoring me too. They've planted a camera in my apartment, had me followed to and from work thinking I didn't notice. And they for sure had my computer bugged and my phone calls and texts are being traced._

_Though that could be a good thing... all I'd have to do is search the local gun stores on my work computer. If I kept looking up recent weapons purchases and their background checks, Jack Savage would see what I'm doing. Even that dumb striped rabbit should be able to take the hint. All while I'd fly under the Sanguinis' radar._

_Maybe I'll even throw some gay bunny porn searches into the mix. Just to fuck with his stupid head a little._

_A limo pulled up in the alley. Gazing out of the window I watched as a female antelope stepped out first, circling around to open the door. A large cat stepped out, though his face was covered in a hood and a mask of laser-cut metal like mine. It was only from his coat pattern on his exposed feet and paws that I could tell he was a leopard._

_I couldn't possibly tell who he was. But I knew the antelope._

_That note that'd been left for me in my locker had been perfectly clear in its advice. “ **Though your broadest talents can be applied high and low, the footing of the low road is more sure.** ” And my broadest talent was the fact that I knew everybody._

_Another limo pulled up, and a plump otter in a feather mask slipped out. He was wearing a white tux and he waddled a bit as he moved. How much of it was part of the disguise, I wondered? A little padding to fill out his figure some more, add a distinctive way of walking... maybe throw a fake accent into the mix. How many of these mammals knew each other? He spoke to the hyena driver for a moment before heading in._

_I didn't know the otter. But I thought I recognized the hyena._

_A large white car this time, and this time a black bear lumbered out wearing a hawk-beaked mask while a wolf attendant retrieved a briefcase from the trunk. He was shaped more like a grizzly though... probably dyed his fur temporarily as part of the disguise._

_The bear was in disguise. But the wolf wasn't. Not to me._

_Those I knew, I mentally filed away their names. Those I didn't, I memorized their faces. Foxes have good memories, and forty-two guests to track down was a lot. It'd strain even my talents. With lives on the line though, I might just manage it._

_After all, I knew everybody._

 

~~~~~

 

“Rufinius had set me up with access to the City's databases. Everything from internal memo boards for the ZPD to tax records and driver's licenses,” I explain, feeling kinda lightheaded that it's finally safe to talk about this. “I've been researching all the names and faces I remembered... the drivers and assistants the guests had brought along in their cars. I uncovered their bosses, made sure they matched the descriptions I remembered... I have 'em all, Judy.”

She throws her arms around my middle, though with my wrists still cuffed I have to loop my arms over her head. It feels so strange, being held by her. For the longest time I never thought I'd be able to feel Judy wrap her arms around me ever again. My stomach's doing somersaults, and I'm feeling dizzy with the shock of the moment.

There's the joy of knowing that Judy's here and she's smiling. The relief of being vindicated. But there's a bitterness to this sweet moment, and it sharpens when I look at my Dad.

“You're... you're taking the fall for this, aren't you?”

He smiles and gives a shrug. “Someone has to.”

“But...” I gulp, and the tears are welling up in my eyes. “They'll... give you the death penalty...”

“Shhh... Nick, please don't worry about me. I'll work something out with the DA. There are still a few Sanguinis facilities abroad, and I know everything needed to take them out. I'm sure he'll give me clemency in exchange for that. Tarquin Vash is quite reasonable, I hear.”

“But still... Dad, they'll put you away for _life_. The only way I'll see you is-”

“Nicholas...” He shakes his head. “Your father... John Wilde... he died twenty years ago in a car accident. And when we're done here, I want you to remember him for who he was before that. John Wilde never would've used you to help defeat Rufinius. He never would've stood by and watched as you took the blame for things the Sanguinis had done. He never would've stayed in the background as you suffered like you did, thinking the whole world was against you. He...”

I choke up as Judy steps aside, and I throw my arms around him. His cheek is so warm and damp against mine.

“Just... just remember the park bench, Nick... if you ever feel sad, just remember me back then, holding you on that warm summer day.”

“D-Dad...” I sniffle.

I want to tell him I'd done it willingly. That it wasn't him that'd pressured me into the situation. I want to tell him that I could take the pain, that I'd toughed it out and survived. But nothing comes out of my muzzle except for a soft choking sound.

“Nick... don't visit me in prison. You can't, understand?” he murmurs into my ear. “I don't want you to see me like that. Please. Just remember John Wilde, and forget that Jacob Frisk ever existed.”

“You know I can't, Dad...” I whisper. “Us foxes... we have good memories.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Milo Cinzento** _

 

My legs wobble a bit as I step on solid ground again.

Two weeks I've been on that cargo ship. It'd taken three days of puking over the side before I got used to the dizzying sway of the deck. The food involved a lot of canned fish and instant noodles, but there was vodka in abundance. Which, frankly, made the puking worse.

Even though I wasn't old enough to drink the sailors had insisted I split a few bottles with 'em. Apparently where they came from having a black cat on deck was good luck. None of them asked about my scars or wanted to know my story. Mostly they wanted to gamble, putting up chocolate bars as wagers. After a long losing streak though a wolf named Sergei joked that maybe my luck had run out. Didn't stop anyone from tussling my headfur to see if my fortune would rub off on them tough.

I wouldn't say we became friends, but they definitely had grown familiar. Looking back to Sergei waving me goodbye, part of me wishes I had taken up his offer for me to stay on board. Maybe if I don't fit in here I'll join them. It'll be another couple months before they come back to this port, apparently. My money should easily last until then.

Checking the zippers on my backpack, I throw it over my shoulders. Just a couple hundred shy of fifty thousand bucks... more than enough to live off of here in Feltaleza for a good long while. Though the bugout bag Mr. Frisk had given to me had a gun, I'd tossed it overboard the first chance I got. At the time I'd thought to myself: no way would I get into the sort of trouble where I'd need that. Never again.

Now though, I wonder if that was the right thing to do.

The main port of Feltaleza is a maze of orange cargo containers and cranes. The smell of the ocean is briny and pungent, but it's cut with something industrial. It's the scent of old axle grease and cigarette smoke fighting against the crisp scent of the surrounding jungle. So unlike Zootopia. Civilization kinda interlaces with wilderness in a similar way here, but it's more like the city is encroaching on nature rather than weaving seamlessly into it.

Everything smells totally different from the Rainforest District back home, from the plants to the pollution to the sulfurous stink of rotting algae. It's like this place is a primal echo of the City.

“ _Cat. He belong in jungle. Feltaleza good place, no?_ ” Sergei had suggested. But standing here in a foreign land, the thought of living here... it kinda hurts. It reminds me too much of a home I'll never get to go back to, of parents I'll never see again. My buddies from school. The college career I'll never get to experience.

Deep down I'm feeling so _hollow_.

I've already cried out all the tears in me though. All that's left is to soldier on.

As I walk down the pier the air is filled with a thick, greasy aroma... the food vendors along the docks. My nose twitches when I catch the scent of fried fish. Maybe some of the local grub would make me feel better.

But as I begin to browse, I hear a commotion.

There, right at the pier, a black-furred she-wolf is being harassed by three clouded leopards. They're screaming at each other in the local tongue. I can only make out every other word, mostly the ones that would've shocked my mom if she learned I knew 'em.

“ _Ey! Stulta!_ ” the she-wolf snarls as she tries to rip her arm out of a leopard's grasp, “ _Lasu mian pojnon!_ ”

“ _Cesu batali, purrata!_ ” the leopard growls back. I gaze out at the surrounding sailors and dock workers. Why aren't they dong anything? This wolf's getting assaulted, and no one's doing anything. No one's even looking up at them.

I try my best to fade into the background. I'm feeling a bit queasy, and I try to tell myself it's just because I still haven't lost my sea legs yet. I'd been on that damn boat for so long that I'd gotten used to the swaying, and now the solid earth beneath me feels like it's rising and falling like it's the chest of a slumbering giant.

Just ignore it. Just do as the locals do.

But then the leopard slaps her across the face. Hard.

Something inside me snaps when I hear that paw crack against her muzzle. After the months of living in fear, of feeling completely helpless against forces bigger than me, the sight of this mammal being attacked and overpowered- why is no one _helping_ her?

Milo, you gotta stop being such a little turd.

Unshouldering my backpack and hanging it on a post, I leave myself a mental check to keep track of it as I charge.

They're just clouded leopards. Runty little cats about half my size, and I'm betting none of them had spent a day training on the football field. I grab the first one and, hoisting him over my head with a snarl, I toss him over the edge of the pier. He lets out a wild screech as he plunges into the water. The second one turns around just in time as I deck him right in the face. I don't consider myself much of a fighter, but the months of training Mr. Frisk had provided, training that'd laid dormant until now in meek lil' Milo... it kicks in. It feels like it's suddenly unlocked a totally different mammal in me.

The second cat drops like a sandbag.

The third one turns around, face bleak with shock, and he lets go of the wolf's arm just as I grab him by the front of his shirt and drive my knee into his balls. He collapses, both paws gripping his crotch.

I'm panting, less from the exertion of the fight because honestly it was just so easy. No, I'm gulping down air out of surprise at what I'd done. I'd actually stood up for someone. I'd _actually_...

_Wham!_

Something hard and heavy slams into my upper back, knocking me against one of the posts.

“ _Maltado kato!_ ” the she-wolf is screaming at me as she swings her purse yet again. “ _Purrata!_ ”

By now the leopards are crawling/hobbling/swimming away and beating a hasty retreat as this crazy female is smacking the shit out of me. Now I'm starting to wonder if the rest of the bystanders actually had the right idea, not getting involved.

“Ow!” I yelp as the purse connects with the side of my arm. That thing is so damn _heavy_ it feels like it might break a bone. “OW, lady! What the _fuck_?! I was only trying to help!”

She gasps in shock the moment I speak.

“ _Ey_!” she says, her eyes changing immediately. “Your accent!”

“Jeez, lady...” I grunt, rubbing my shoulder. “You keep a brick in there or something?”

The wolf grins as she opens her purse, pulling out a ten-pound gym weight. “I take care of myself. You Zootopian, yes? Gazelle?”

As if to demonstrate, she belts out a few terribly off-key notes of Try Everything.

I look her up and down. She's somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties. Though it should be winter back home, she's got her thinner summer coat in this heat. Her fur is black as night and her eyes are blue like chips of ice... being a wolf she's obviously born to immigrants to a cat-run city like Feltaleza, though by her accent she'd grown up here. But looking at her now I realize there's not much that's feminine about her. She's wearing some pretty butch jeans, and her sleeveless top hugs a pretty broad-shouldered body for a wolf.

Nursing my bruises, I realize she probably had everything in the bag. Literally.

“Yeah... I'm Milo.” Stupid, stupid Milo.

“Mai-lo...” she growls affectionately around my name. “Mi Mama, she from Zootopia. Name me Karma. Funny, yes?”

At first I think it's a nice coincidence, that I just tried to do a good deed for someone named Karma. But just as I'm taking her in something clicks.

“Ooooh because Karma is a b- ah... um...”

She laughs at that. “Mai-lo... slow, but cute.”

Karma cups my face with one paw then, considering me. “Why these scars? You _mafioso_? Gangster?”

“N-no...” I gulp.

“Mmm...” she says, considering me carefully, when her muzzle sharpens into a toothy grin. Back home polite preds would never think about baring our teeth like that. It's kinda exhilarating, the thought of what a pred-dominant city was like.

She hooks her arm into mine then. “Come. You come with Karma, take you for meal. You like _feijoada_?”

“Love it...” I gulp. It was one of my favorite dishes growing up. Nothing could beat my mom's _feijoada_.

As we walk alongside the post I reach out for the backpack I'd hung up. As if to help me she grabs for it at the same time, but when I pull too quickly the zipper comes slightly undone. It drags open, just enough to reveal the stacks of bills inside.

Karma's eyes shrink back in shock. The ferocious grin she was wearing melts instantly from her face.

Doing up the zipper quickly I wonder if I should make a run for it. Would she try to knock me out with her purse? Scream for help? After all the shit I'd been through I didn't wanna get tossed in jail again.

“Stupid Mai-lo...” Karma shakes her head and shoves the backpack into my paws. “Bag not for money. People steal.”

She pats her own purse with its ten-pound weight. What, does she expect me to stuff all of this in my pockets?

We wend our way through the docks and down to a more run-down area of the city. Feltaleza has its nicer spots of course, but this neighborhood looks pretty rough. The paint is peeling off the walls and plaster is flaking away from naked brickwork. Some buildings look as if they were just made from poured concrete. These mammals didn't care about architectural style or construction standards or harmonizing their homes with their environment. They just wanted spaces to live in.

I'm feeling pretty bummed out seeing all this. And not just because this crazy bitch might be taking me into an alley to get jumped.

But then we turn the corner.

It's a whole street of restaurants, as if the great cities of the world had been thrown haphazardly into a bag of toy blocks and some cub had tried to build something sensible out of it. A white-walled polar bear cafe is selling chilled borscht and passionfruit iced tea. A family of red pandas have a storefront with red lanterns hanging outside, offering a variety of bamboo noodle dishes. The rich, complex smell of spices prickles at my nose, and I turn to see a curry house. A tiger in traditional Tigrian garb is placing some fresh incense in the shrine outside, and he looks up at me and Karma as we pass.

I blink in wonder. In a way... it's kinda like a microcosm of Zootopia. Mammals from all over the world, from different biomes and cultures, just mashed together in one clunky, busy, amazing mess.

Finally, we arrive at the biggest restaurant on the street, one that seems to specialize in the local fare.

It's four in the afternoon, well past the lunch rush of the day, so the chef is taking a smoke break outside. He's an enormous gray wolf: the biggest I've seen by far, about as big as the tiger we'd walked past. He's broad-shouldered and stacked with muscle like a pro football player. I swallow heavily as Karma drags me up to him.

“ _Ey, frato!_ ” she says cheerfully, “This is Mai-lo. Dumb little _mafioso_. Bring him here for meal.”

“I'm not _mafioso_!” I protest.

The wolf, obviously her brother, looks down at me. Dropping his cigarette he mashes it into the dirt with his foot. “Mmm. Get in trouble again, Karma?” Unlike his sister, the guy's more fluent and his accent isn't nearly as thick.

“Ey! The _Makulitaja_ harass me, yes. But I fight them off.”

“Uh, actually... _I_ fought them off?” I say cautiously.

“No, you get in way,” Karma sniffs. “I was taking care.”

“I'm Matheus,” Karma's brother says with a chuckle. “Kid, I know back home you feel like you gotta play the white knight, but this is Feltaleza. Females can stand up for themselves.”

“I wasn't-”

“Aaaah I'm just teasing!” he lets out a thick, bellowing laugh. “Come on in, it's great to meet another mammal from Zootopia.”

Good _feijoada_ kinda needs some time to sit for the flavors to meld properly, but the bowl of stew Matheus sets in front of me smells like it'd been on the stove all day. There's this mellow earthiness to it from the black beans and bell peppers, the bay leaves and just a hint of cumin. There's something extra savory about the aroma too.

Karma gestures that I should help myself first. When I stir the serving spoon through the dish, I blink in surprise at the sight of thick, rubbery meat in there. And... is that bone? And this white thing... a foot?

It's chicken. Chicken thigh, sausage, neck, and even its feet too.

Matheus must've seen the expression on my face, because he snorts in derision. “This is the real shit, kiddo. Not that bug protein crap they serve back home to keep the hoofers from getting spooked.”

Hey, bug loaf and mealworm sausage aren't that bad, really. Especially in mom's _feijoada_. I mean I've tried chicken before. It's almost a religious experience biting into a juicy fried chicken thigh, with that crispy fatty skin. But that's kinda a sinful little indulgence you could usually only find on the outskirts just beyond the bounds of polite society. And for it to be in _feijoada_...

The saliva is puddling in my mouth.

I ladle a modest scoop into my rice, mixing in a bit of the _farofa_ and taking care I don't accidentally drag the collard greens into the mix. My first bite is a revelation... there's this unctuous meatiness to the dish, with a satisfying texture that resists each bite and bursts with juices like the bird is still alive in my mouth. I have to close my eyes and really chew to take it all in. It's nothing like mom's dish... I mean, I'll always love her cooking, and I'll always miss it, but there's no way I'd turn down this stuff.

Between every couple of bites I make sure to get a mouthful of greens, before munching on one of the orange wedges to help clear my palate for the next spoonful. I sprinkle on a liberal helping of chili oil to add some kick, too. Dad always liked to go heavy on the chili oil. As I help myself to a second scoop Matheus has returned from the kitchen, setting down a tall _caipirinha_ in front of me. Luckily I have plenty of experience with alcohol by now.

Karma smirks as she watches me eat. Her plate is a bit of a mess in comparison.

“Mai-lo... so _dainty_ how you eat,” she laughs. “Your mother, she teach you those manners?”

I feel an ache in my chest at that thought, and I grip the front of my shirt with a paw.

“Y-yeah... she did.”

Matheus notices the change in my expression, and gives his sister's shoulder a light cuff with his paw. “So... how's the City these days? They still call it the City, right?”

“Yeah,” I nod, taking a sip of the _caipirinha_. “It's fine.”

I'm not sure what they'd do to me if I told them about the Blue epidemic, the drug war, or the Sanguinis running rampant with the attack on Catsro square. With my face the way it is it wouldn't take much for them to put two and two together.

“He _mafioso_ ,” Karma says again as she sucks a hunk of cartilage off of a bone. “Check his bag.”

Matheus' eyes narrow as he looks at me. His muzzle tightens into a very stern expression.

“Milo? May I look in your bag?”

“Uh- w-well...”

“Please.”

He's trying to sound polite, but his voice is so flat and stern I'm terrified of saying no. Especially with how huge he is.

My paw trembling, I give him my backpack.

Matheus unzips it and takes a good, long look at the crisp stacks of hundreds. He stares at it for a while, face expressionless, before he zips it back up and passes it back to me.

“Look, I don't know what you're running from, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. But the fact that you tried standing up for my sister... that tells me you're a decent mammal in my book.”

“I try...” I say shyly, nibbling on an orange wedge.

There's something about the way he's taking charge right now that it makes me realize... Matheus is probably the Alpha in the neighborhood. Hoofers and grazers tend to think it's a pred thing in general, the whole Pack Life subculture. But I'm a cat, and except for lions we kinda go our own way. Plus my family was upper middle-class... we never _needed_ a pack.

I've had a few wolf friends and I've picked up a few things from them, but it's still kinda new territory for me.

“So tell me, Milo. What're your plans right now? You're obviously fresh off the boat.”

“Well..” I say stirring my rice a little. “I'm... not sure.”

“Mmm,” Matheus rubs his chin. “Well... I'm just thinking, we could always use a good pair of paws in the neighborhood. You might've noticed Jetita Street here is basically a community of migrants. We're constantly being harassed by the _Makulitaja_... the local thugs who think we're disrespecting their turf just by existing outside of the feline persuasion. You look like you've seen some shit, and if you just puffed your chest out a little and looked more confident you could be a real scary looking fucker.”

I shake my head nervously. “I'm... I'm really not a fighter.”

“He lying,” Karma chuckles. “He actually move real good.”

“I don't need someone to fight, I just need someone to look a little intimidating to keep the _Makulitaja_ out of our fur,” Matheus sniffs. “You can work moving crates in the meantime. I can't pay much, but it looks like you don't need it. I can offer free meals, though.”

“And Mai-lo can stay with me!” Karma laughs, throwing a paw in the air as if volunteering.

She's running her foot up along my calf now, and it's getting _really_ high up there. I spaz out when she begins caressing the inside of my thigh with her toes. The _caipirinha_ I'm holding splashes against my wrist.

Karma looks at me soberly as Matheus heads to the kitchen for a towel. The moment he's out of sight she leans in close, her voice lowering.

“Mai-lo... you not like girls? You...” she tilts her head like she's trying to think of the right term. “You, eh... donut-puncher?”

It's obvious that she's trying to go for a gentler euphemism, but her words have the complete opposite effect.

“I'm not gay!” I yelp.

At the door, one of the cats in Tigrian garb glances at me as he walks past. I slap a paw to my forehead.

“Good!” Karma grins, taking my paw in hers. “You stay with Karma, enjoy Matheus' cooking. And we work together, yes? Help keep Jetita Street safe from _Makulitaja_ assholes?”

In the back of my mind I'm thinking of the house I grew up in. The banister I'd broken from sliding down it too many times and not noticing how big I'd gotten. Mom's cooking, and the sound of an ice cream machine churning away on a hot summer afternoon. The way the turf had felt beneath my feet when I ran on the field.

Mom... Dad... I'm sorry. I know we'll never be able to go back to the same home I grew up in. I know that after everything I've done our lives won't be the same. But maybe someday you'll forgive me. Maybe someday, I'll find you and we can be a family again.

But until then... I think I've found a home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author Comments, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Yep. I referenced Chapter 18 here, the Auction. In particular, the scene where Nick is sitting morosely at a table overlooking the alley as Pearl makes drinks for him. This was written way back in the beginning when I still thuoght this story would only have to be 35-40 chapters long. I also didn't realize how tiny and subtle the clues were, so I made them far too well-hidden. In retrospect, I don't think anyone could have reasonably noticed the hint here.
> 
> All the guests to the Auction were in disguise, and Nick couldn't have been expected to identify any of them. But you'll also notice each guest that arrives also has a valet, assistant, driver, etc. accompanying him, presumably unmasked. These were the ones Nick was able to remember and had to track down. As I would mention later on, he was using the hacked feed to government networks to do his research and trace those mammals back to their employers. Nick would've also been doing this on the DL before he ZIA chased him out of his apartment.
> 
> This solution could've used more foreshadowing between those two points as well, but lately I've been feeling some pressure to finish this story arc and didn't have time to develop my ideas here further.
> 
> Milo's section was SUPER fun to write. In particular, I had a blast writing Karma. I know some of my critics dislike Milo, or outright hate him even. Some peeps are probably just bored by his sections. But I have a weird fondness for this not-so-innocent cinnamon roll, largely because I kinda sympathize with the idea of falling in with the wrong crowd when you're young. With everything he's been through I wanted to give him a happy ending, though one with bittersweet notes.
> 
> When I first wrote his character I had Brazilian Portuguese in mind, since in my mind he's basically a younger, brattier Mr. Manchas in looks at least. So here he's kinda going back to his cultural roots by going to Feltaleza (from the port city of Fortaleza, in Brazil). Of course, having lived in Zootopia all his life he's basically a fish out of water.
> 
> Why go here? Was it just Sergei's offpaw suggestion? Is he trying to forget about his mistakes in life by getting back to his roots? Is Milo looking for his parents? Or did he just find a new home in the diverse melting pot of Jetita Street? A little of all of it, honestly.
> 
> Of course, I didn't want it to look too much like Brazil or even the broad cultures of Latin America. So I decided that when I gave Fortaleza a language I'd just have Karma speaking Esperanto as pulled off of Google Translate, with some made-up profanity. The exchange basically goes:
> 
> "Hey! Asshole! Let go of my wrist!"  
> "Stop fighting, whore!"
> 
> Also, Makulitaja just means "spotted," in reference to the Clouded Leopards' spots.
> 
> But yeah, fun stuff. I'd love to explore some of is new life on Jetita Street someday. As one of my beta readers said: "I smell a spinoff."


	51. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning to wrap things up.

_**Josiah Dumford** _

 

“Mr. Dumford?” my secretary approaches me just as I rush towards the door. “Sir? The shareholders are-”

“NO TIME!” I snarl at her. It's the stupid yak's fault if she can't pick up the mood I'm in. Everyone who works for me is supposed to have two crucial skills: they need to know when I'm in a fit, and they need to give me a wide berth when I am.

I don't remember her name. I don't remember the names of any of the drones beneath me. But I do remember faces, and the next time I see hers her ass is _fired_. In fact, the hiring manager who'd brought her in? Her ass is _fired_ too.

The gilded doors to my private elevator close at such an agonizingly slow pace, but once I press the button for the top floor I feel my knees buckle slightly as it shoots up to my suite.

“ _Josiah_ ,” Darek Ashton had called me in a panic. “ _The ZIA- they know! I just got a call from Aurelius' wife and she said their manor had been raided!_ ”

 _Damn you, Darek. This is all your fault!_ I think to myself.

With our wealth and our positions the two of us had supped full on the richest pleasures Zootopia could offer. By now even the most expensive little whores couldn't satiate us anymore. Yet two years ago he was fresh from a business trip abroad, and in a giddy whisper he'd hinted at the fine little prize he'd acquired at a private function. At the time I'd expected a new girlfriend he was willing to share. That'd been done to death though, and indeed his tone hinted that it was something much sweeter.

There, in the basement of his villa, was the new prize he wanted to show off. I was skeptical at first, this little bunny doe in her silken gown and ornate golden rings. I didn't shy away from interspecies stuff, of course, and I'd even been known to bed a pred on occasion. This time though it'd been such a forbidden little thrill, seeing this side of him, with the cage and the stockade, the ropes and the chains.

Soon enough though I seized my opportunity and had my own turn.

What I experienced was a revelation. The feel of her velvety fur, the clink of her rings as she swirled in my lap, the way she'd pulled at her bonds... but more than that the _power_ we had over her. There was nothing she would refuse, there was no concern that I might push her too far. That Darek had his own little pet that would meet his every appetite, and with such _talent_... oooh, I was envious.

I knew it was wrong, but that wrongness just added a sharpness to the thrill. But I also knew, with ravenous envy, that I needed my own.

I burst into my penthouse, nearly slipping on the fine marble floor as I scramble to the room where I kept her. This morning I'd left her strung up in her latex bonds, drugged and gagged and blindfolded. Deprived of sensation. It always left her thirsty for my touch when I came back to her, starving to feel me.

I'd never thought myself capable of this, but desperation tends to unlock new talents.

Convenient. So convenient now... she wouldn't make a noise as I got rid of her. All wrapped up for disposal as well. Quickly I try to figure out the best way to do it. With every second counting strangling her would be too slow, and I couldn't do anything that left blood in my apartment.

This shouldn't be happening. This _can't_ be happening. The Prince hadn't just sold us the goods, he'd been so completely professional about ensuring our anonymity and our safety. Surely he would've given ample warning if he learned that the law discovered anything. Where was he? Why hadn't we been notified?! I wouldn't have made the purchase if I'd known there was any _risk_ to it!

My mind's racing. The garbage chute. Yes, that's it. A heavy dose of drugs to silence her, simply put her in a plastic bag, and-

The double-doors to my penthouse burst open. The one leading to the back entrance, with the freight elevator for my furniture and the fire exit winding down. Mammals in black suits are screaming at me to put my paws in the air, demanding to know where the bunny is, but my mind's in a terrified fog as I race for my private elevator.

 _Thwip_! _Thwip_!

I barely feel the darts as they pierce into my side, but the effect kicks in quite rapidly. My legs give out from under me. My head is spinning. I grope for the button, but my hoof simply slams on gilded doors that refuse to open to me. My fingers squeak against the shining surface as the weight of my body drags me to the floor.

As the world vanishes into a haze, one of the Agents is carrying away a small bundle in his arms. A little brown bunny, the fur inside her ears iridescent like abalone shells. She rolls her head with a sleepy smile, and her eyes catch my own.

Oh Angel... you've really fucked me this time.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Lenny Packard** _

 

When the diggers break through the wall I have to restrain myself from scrambling to be the first led out of this god-forsaken hole. All these warm bodies packed together in a corridor for nearly two weeks... eugh. Luckily there was a set of private quarters around the bend and a single bathroom for a dozen of us to share, but with all of us using it in turn we'd run through the fox-sized soap dispenser really damn quick. Which meant just rinsing with plain water ever since.

We'd been given basic toiletries by the rescue teams... toothbrushes, toothpaste, toilet paper, but there were only so many supplies that could be fed through the hole in the rubble by teams of mice, and food had to take the highest priority. The smell of a dozen bodies... all the phenolic and carboxylic compounds of built-up musk... I'd be lucky if I haven't gone nose-blind by the end of this.

I'd begged the rescuers to bring me my sleeping pills just so I could nap out the worst of it until we were rescued... I do that on long flights all the time. But unless it was crucial, no medication. Damn bureaucrats running the show probably didn't like the risk of a stir-crazy wolf trying to sleep longer than they intend.

We clamber up the ladder one by one, led by our rescuers from these sewers. All of us are disheveled and practically sobbing at the smell of fresh air wafting just above us. I'd never realized how _clean_ the City could smell, how a single breath of winter air could just pull all the grime out of your lungs.

I'm in a daze as I leave what's left of the Twilight Cathedral behind me. A ZPD officer lays a blanket over my shoulders, but I'm too out of it to thank him. I'm tottering alongside my ZIA and ZPD... well, not companions. Corridor-mates? No, that's not the word. Fellow captives? Shit, I'm really out of it.

Cameras flash around us, and there's a whole crowd here to witness the tail end of the rescue. They're cheering, and while a couple of the rescued Officers let out whoops of joy, I just shiver with relief at the thought of finally escaping this ordeal. A rescuer pushes a cup of hot tea into my paws and I sip it eagerly. Mmm. Chamomile.

I just need to get back home and take a long, hot shower and clear my nose. Once I'm done... once I get some time off to recover fully... well, it's straight back to the lab for me.

No more field operations. Never ever again.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Benjy Kaplan** _

 

The beep of the heart rate monitor.

The drip of saline.

The smell of a hospital bed, sterile but stale, and rank with the smell of unwashed fur.

My eyes feel sticky when I wake up, and I shift uncomfortably. It'd been such a beautiful dream I'd been having, and when you wake up from one of those there's just this bitter disappointment when you realize it hadn't been real. I groan, wanting to roll over and try to return to it, but with the fluorescent lights beaming overhead and the fact that it feels like I've slept for a week already I know I won't be passing out anytime soon.

A paw closes around mine just as my vision begins to clear, and I turn to stare into the face of a tiger beside my bed. It's a face that I've seen so many times in the mirror. He's wearing a soft little smile, and though there's usually mischief in his eyes... this tiger that just _loves_ twin pranks... there isn't a hint of any playfulness on that striped face now.

“Hey, big bro,” he says, fingers tightening on my paw. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Danny...” I murmur. “I... worried you, didn't I?”

He makes a noise, half-sob, and half-chuckle. I know that part of him wants to really chew me out. Tell me once again that he _knew_ something like this would happen. But instead he just cups the side of my face.

“When they called me and told me what happened...” he sniffles. “For an instant I thought I'd lost you, Benjy. You'd taken the car, you wouldn't answer your phone. I _knew_ you were up to something, but... well. I guess Judy's saved your life twice now, huh? We really owe her...”

“The Sanguinis...” I mutter in a thick slur.

“Don't even think about that right now,” Danny says, “They're not your problem anymore.”

“I'm... sorry, Danny...” I say with a heavy swallow. My mouth tastes like an ashtray. I need some water. And some anise seeds to chew on to sweeten my breath. “I'm sorry for being such an ass. For pushing you away.”

I move the paw he's holding, and weave my fingers through his. We clasp our paws together in that intimate way that no one else could possibly understand. Not just brothers. But not quite lovers, either.

“Forget about that now...” he murmurs, stroking my head. “And... I'm sorry, too. When you get better, when you're ready to come back to the apartment... I want you to move out.”

I blink and sit up suddenly. It's as if the last bits of sleep had cleared from my mind, burning away like mist in the sun.

“What?”

“I- I mean...” Danny gulps. “I know it's what you want, Benjy. You and me- we _can't_ stay like this. It's not _healthy_. You being so angry you gotta turn to booze all the time. Me being so needy and annoying. I know I have dependency issues and I've been working on that. And I promise I'll _keep_ working on that. But you're right. You've _always_ been right about how I need to just grow up.”

“That's...” I blink, stunned. “I never meant that...”

“Of course you meant it,” Danny sniffs. “I know how much you hate all the crazy bullshit me and Luke get up to. All the bondage gear we put up, the nip parties, the impromptu nudity... deep down, I gotta admit that part of the reason I ran wild like that was so you'd be too scared of ever bringing a tigress home. It was just so... so I wouldn't have to lose you to someone else.

“But it hasn't been fair to you, Benjy... you have your own life to lead, and I gotta stop clinging to some stupid fantasy I came up with when I was a cub,” Danny sighs, shaking his head. “That fortuneteller... I don't know what I was thinking. We haven't even gone to Temple since we were cubs.”

I lean back into the bed again. “...Who's gonna cook for you, though? It's not like you can get takeout every day.”

“And who's gonna clean up your stuff and do your laundry?” Danny says. “I'll learn. _You'll_ learn. Both of us have some growing up to do, I guess. But we can't do that if we're trapped in this horrible codependency thing.”

I stare at Danny for a good long while. How long _had_ I been out of it? He seems so different now. So much more _mature_.

He scrubs his cheek with the back of his paw and his throat bobs in a hard swallow. I know he's trying not to cry.

“Danny... I know this is hard for you. But- thanks. Thanks for giving this to me.”

He nods, and his mouth curves into a smile that doesn't meet his eyes. “I can't say this is gonna be easy for me. I still have feelings for you, bro. But if I ever _really_ loved you this is what I gotta do now, is I gotta just let you be happy.”

“Are _you_ gonna be happy?” I ask. “Without me?”

“I have to, Benjy. And you have to stop worrying about me if we're gonna move into a better place with our relationship. Besides, clinging to you all this time, hoping you'll be able to love be back someday if I kept you trapped in a corner long enough... it was messed up. And it wasn't fair to Luke,” Danny sighs. “And... and I gotta focus on him now.”

“Glad to hear it,” I murmur, squeezing his paw. “You're... a great little brother sometimes, you know that?”

“About time I started trying to be,” he smiles. His shoulders heave as he takes a deep breath. “Well! I've been through this process before... the neurologist is gonna come in and he's gonna wanna run some tests to see if your brain's working right. But from what the doctors said they think you'll pull through just fine.”

He stands up then, and pulls his paw away from mine. The spaces between my fingers feel cold and empty without his laced into them.

“I'll let you get some rest, big bro. We'll talk about this later. For now... just focus on getting better, okay?”

His tail drags behind him as he heads out. Getting some rest is the last thing I wanna do, but Danny's trying not to look at me as he leaves. He's struggling with his feelings, and right now he needs to be alone for a little while.

My head flops back onto my pillow. Everything before I passed out is a blur. There'd been the fight with Smythe, the dozens of cuts and stabs I'd endured, each one adding another trickle of poison into my system. The bandages wrapped around my arms and legs and the prickly feeling of fresh stitches are a reminder that that'd been no dream though.

I try not to think about what I'd done after. The feeling of something crunching beneath my paw, something wet and slippery and fragile as I raged. I try to write it off as a delusion. Some nightmare my subconscious had cooked up while I was suffocating from the venom coursing through my body.

There was Judy... begging me for- something. Nick looking sad and scared and worried.

And then... in the dim space between then and waking up now, I'd had a dream. A beautiful dream, one I'd wanted to sink back into from the moment I woke. One that's rapidly fading. I try to capture the details, but it's like trying to catch smoke with my paws.

But I do remember, at least a little.

The smell of mango blossoms. The sound of a fishing boat rippling in the water, and the sight of a tigress in her merchant's silks as she watched me row past, her fur blazing in the red-gold light of sunset.

Long ago, on the shore of the Baagh River.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

“Stay eighteen inches away from the plexiglass at all times,” the Warden says as his guards pat me down. This is hardly my first time in Highwatch, and the list of rules he rattles off has the dull, cardboard taste of rote repetition.

“Do not accept anything from the prisoner without my authorization. You may pass the prisoner items through the slot, but no writing instruments, medicines, flammables, or anything with an edge.”

I follow the Warden through the security gate to the high security cells. Off-white walls give way to stark gray concrete. Every guard is holding a shotgun, and each gate here requires both biometric ID as well as a physical key.

Deep in the pit of Highwatch everything is on lockdown. Even the light fixtures overhead are walled off with metal grates. The guards have to unbolt them from the ceiling just to change a bulb.

“There will be armed guards overseeing your visit, one on each end of the corridor. You will be monitored at all times via visual and audio feed-”

“Actually, I have a classified intelligence order and a surveillance waiver,” I say, reaching into my jacket and producing the relevant paperwork. The warden unfolds the forms, eyes narrowing at me in displeasure over interrupting his spiel.

“Very well,” he says, tucking the forms into his pocket after a brief examination. Prison wardens are never happy when their routine is interrupted. Every mammal around them, not just the inmates, are supposed to contribute to an atmosphere of predictability and order. “I'll have the cameras and the mics turned off during your visit.”

As we pass by one of the cells the inmate within perks up.

“Why Tiger Lily!” Sebastian Dusk says cheerfully, sitting up from his bed. “So good to finally see you in the flesh! It's been twenty years! I would ask how your family is doing, but I already know the answer to that. Silly me!”

I don't even spare him a glance as we walk past, but Dusk persists and presses his paws up to the plexiglass. “Oh please don't leave! I'm doing quite well on my end, quite well indeed! Come now, spare a moment for an old friend!”

His laughter follows me down the hall, but I keep my eyes straight ahead.

When we finally reach the cell in question, I turn and stand in front of the barrier as the Warden leaves. The moment he's out the door the red light for the security camera facing me turns off. Folding my paws behind my back I finally face the inmate.

“Hello, Miles.”

Miles Elkredge has seen better days. He looks thinner, and his face is gaunt. One of his eyes is still slightly swollen from the beating he'd endured in his capture, and with both of his antlers trimmed off he looks like a pale shadow of the moose he once was. I've seen him without his antlers of course, during the spring season when they shed of their own accord. Now though he looks feeble without them. Castrated.

It's hard, seeing Miles like this. If Seraphine was like an aunt, Elkredge had always been a gruff uncle. They'd been the first two mammals I'd seen on the day of my rescue. Miles had been the one who trained me, taught me how to fire my first gun. When he was still married I'd been the pet bachelor they'd entertain on occasion. When he divorced I was there to help him drink his woes away. He'd never shown much affection or approval, and though I'd never expected it from him anyway, the rare bit acknowledgement he did offer still meant a lot.

“Jack,” Elkredge says simply.

“Never thought we'd talk like this.”

“There's always been a glass wall between us, Jack,” he says, scratching his arm. “You just never saw it.”

I step forward to the bright yellow line painted into the concrete. Eighteen inches, the Warden had said. Not that it means anything with two inches of bulletproof resin between us.

“I want some answers, Miles.”

“I already detailed everything in my report to Seraphine.”

“Yes. I read it...” I say. Miles had confessed to everything. He'd been the one who'd made sure I noticed Nicholas Wilde. He'd prompted me to take a look at his profile, helped me steal the psych report from his therapist. Miles was the one who'd leaked the fact that we knew where the Twilight Cathedral was to Rufinius Frisk.

When the ZIA drones had been hacked, well... that'd been him too. Not directly of course, those computer skills are way outside of Miles' ability. But he'd installed the virus on Adrienne's computers and provided a backdoor to the Sanguinis. The guy had even let them plant a micro-explosive charge in his antler so it'd look like he'd been shot on the raid.

And all throughout he'd made sure I stayed alive, so that one day when I was physically and mentally vulnerable the Prince would be able to capture and break me.

“I'm here because I want to know _why_ , Miles.”

The disgraced ZIA Agent doesn't answer. Instead he looks away from me, scratching his arm with a hoof. He must've been nursing that nervous tick for a while, because the fur is coming out in a patch near his elbow, to the point that I can see the raw skin beneath. I don't need to get much closer to see the dried blood dusting what fur is left.

I sigh, pulling the box of cigarettes out of my pocket. Everything in Miles' office and apartment had been confiscated by the ZIA, and forensics is sifting through all of it for the slightest clues. Luckily I know his brand. Tapping out a cig I light it before passing it through the slot. Curls of bitter smoke twist from the end, like a stick of incense in a temple.

Miles tries not to look too eager when he plucks it up, but he sucks on it like newborn kit nursing at his mother's breast.

“Fuck...” he breathes, practically shivering in relief. “Fuck, that feels so _good_...”

And here I thought I could get used to being around Miles without the scent of tobacco smoke wafting from him.

“They really should put you on the patch,” I tell him, not for the first time.

“It's not just the nicotine. It's a holistic experience, y'know? The smell, the way the smoke spills from your lungs when you exhale. The way the end smolders when you take a puff...”

I've heard this speech before. His shoulders visibly relax, and he's gesturing with the cigarette as he talks like he usually does when I catch him taking a break.

“So, feel like talking now?” I ask.

“You could give me a couple minutes to savor it, at least.”

“I thought we knew each other, Miles,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Why did you do it? How much did Frisk pay you?”

He just closes his eyes and takes another long, smooth drag.

“Or did he threaten you? Threaten your family?”

“Do you really have to ask?” he asks, finally looking at me. “Cairo, Jack. This all started in fucking Cairo.”

I knew that shitshow of a mission had hit him hard. He'd been placed on psych leave for two months, and was routinely getting therapy for another few months after. The strain of dealing with the mental fallout had crippled his marriage, and though they'd tried to make it work Georgia ended up leaving him.

How long had they been together? Fifteen years? Twenty? His daughter was close to graduating high school then, and ever since she went off to college they'd lost all contact.

But the way he's looking at me now, with this quiet, smoldering intensity...

“You say that like it was my fault.”

“Of course it was your fucking fault!” he snaps suddenly, stabbing at me with a hooved finger. “We didn't belong there! The ZIA is supposed to protect Zootopia from _foreign_ _threats_ , not invade another fucking country to take out some criminal that hadn't been in the City for over a decade!”

“We _were_ protecting Zootopia's interests,” I snap. “The Vulpes Sanguinis-”

“Bullshit!” Miles snarls. I haven't seen this sort of intensity in him before. This raw, unrestrained anger. “We were protecting _your_ interests. _Your_ crusade against the Sanguinis. And look where it got us.”

“I wasn't the lead Agent on that mission.”

“You don't get to pin the blame on me, Jack,” he says, waving the cig back and forth in denial, the smoke spreading in a twisting fog. “Even if my name comes first on all the reports. The fact is _you_ were the one who'd pushed for the mission. _You_ were the one who'd badgered Director Sable into starting up international operations against the Sanguinis. I may have had to call a Code Black designation, but I never would've done it if we were never there in the first place.”

In a sense it's true, what he's saying. Ever since I joined the ZIA I'd encouraged Director Sable to be more proactive in rooting out the Sanguinis. They were a stain on Zootopia's reputation, I'd told him. The rest of the world was holding them over our heads, saying we didn't just tolerate slavers and drug cartels and terrorists. No, we bred them back home. The Sanguinis were a leaden weight around our necks, one we needed to get rid of as aggressively as possible.

Even though I was a spunky little rookie, my suit still fresh from the tailor's with hints of chalk still along the seams, Sable had agreed. With each new mission, each new victory I'd helped clinch against Sanguinis operations, Sable grew more confident in the cause. He gave me more assignments to move against them.

And when we got word that Jacob Cornelius Frisk himself, the son of the Prince, was in Cairo... well, we had to try and capture him, didn't we?

Of course, at the time Sable couldn't justify someone as young as me taking the lead on the mission, even with my successes. Miles had the experience, tactical knowledge, and seniority to do it. Being the professional that he was, Miles hadn't hesitated or voiced a single complaint. And at the time I thought he'd been okay with some heavy interventionism.

Hearing him now... it takes me by surprise.

“I still see 'em you know...” he continues, taking a long drag on his cig. “Tahir Jamaali. That poor tourist I'd had to shoot in the head. The informant. Azhara Samaha, her name was. Even today I remember the way she'd begged. How she'd promised she wouldn't tell anyone anything. And you know, when I put that gun to her skull, right before I pulled the trigger... I knew it wasn't me doing it. It was you, Jack. It was all you.”

His gaze is dripping with venom when he looks to me again.

“Ever since you joined the ZIA you've pushed for more intervention. More covert ops. You got the enjoy all the glitz and glamour of being an international super spy, but the rest of us who had our hooves on the ground... we had to pick up the pieces.

“So yeah. When Rufinius Frisk called I did some real serious soul-searching, but in the end I knew what I had to do. I'd feed him info, and he'd use it to break you mentally so you were nice and pliable before you got wrapped up in a pretty little bow and placed on his doorstep. And once you were gone, once Director Seraphine and Mayor Lionheart saw what'd happened to their top Agent... once they realized the cost of moving too far outside of our jurisdiction... well. There was no way we'd have another Cairo then.”

“So...” I sneer. “You did it all for the greater good. To make sure the ZIA didn't get itself involved in another international quagmire.”

“And to protect innocents from the crossfire,” Miles says soberly. “Yeah.”

“That's crap, Miles. And you know it. Mammals died because of you. ZIA Agents. ZPD Officers. Razorbacks.”

“I didn't know about the bombs.”

“That doesn't matter.” A cold fury is burning in me now. The list of names I'd carved across my mind begins to echo in my memory. Loupin... Ramure... Fangmeyer... Mustela.

My eyes narrow at Miles. “You should've killed yourself when you had the chance.”

“Why do you think I took up smoking?” he chuckles bitterly, puffing on the ever-shortening stub. “I tried to make it right, you know. Tried to let Wilde go in the woods. He was taking all the heat from this fuckup when he clearly didn't deserve it. Poor bastard had gone just about as crazy as you.”

“I hear Council Member Wedsley is quietly trying to rescind the death penalty order on you,” I sigh. I could already see the caribou, every inch the hypocritical politician doing such an abrupt about-face. “I guess he doesn't like the optics of another hoofer being executed.”

He mashes the end of his cigarette into the rim of his sink. “Yeah well... us hoofers go with the herd, right?” He sighs and glances up at me, looking so very drained. “I'm all outta talk, and I doubt you're gonna give me another. Despite it all, it was good to see you, Jack. Thanks for the smoke.”

I turn and leave for the gate.

The warden himself has to come by again to let me out. We head back down the hall, and once again I ignore the Smiler's happy attempts to spark up a conversation. Down past the concrete corridors, the stone-faced guards with their shotguns. Only when we reach the off-white halls of the prison does the warden excuse himself and let the guard on duty escort me out.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I say once we're out of the restricted zone, reassuring the elk that I very well know my way out.

There aren't many visitors to Highwatch this early in the morning, and on a weekday no less. I've got the whole place to myself. Hopping up onto one of the large toilets, I pull out the box of cigarettes. One by one I crumble them into the bowl, before stepping back and flushing the things down the drain. I flush one more time to be sure, before I head out and wash my hands thoroughly.

Filthy habit.

Back in my car I'm holding my little vial and rolling it in my fingers. Half of the powder remains, and the white specks cling to the glass as I turn it. A couple grains in a gallon of water had been enough to kill a goldfish in half an hour.

Sorry Miles... but I did always warn you. Those things are gonna kill you someday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author Commentary: Spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> Welp we're finally starting to wrap things up! While I wanted to include a section for Marcus Asner (the hacker who helped Nick and Charlie in It's A Fox Thing, and who'd been dragged into the Twilight Cathedral and forced to help Rufinius hack the ZIA's surveillance drones), he was a bit too small of an element to bother bringing back. That, and to properly do his narrative “voice” I would've wanted to accurately mimic an Australian accent, and with my eagerness to get this story done I just couldn't be bothered.
> 
> So let's just say Mr. Asner is currently shivering with fear in his basement with his gaming supplies and anime wall scrolls, with a big sack of Sanguinis cash in paw (Rufinius promised him a couple hundred thousand bucks). He's hoping to God that Nick wouldn't rat a tod out, but he's definitely thinking he needs to get his pudgy ass out of the City.
> 
> Thanks to Nick's efforts identifying all the mammals at the auction, they're being rescued in one fell swoop, so the rich assholes who bought them won't be able to dispose of them so easily. It's also important to note that it wasn't just the eight known bunnies that were rescued: Frisk has been at this for decades, and so has his client base.
> 
> While I planned for Elkredge to be the mole ever since the beginning, for this plot element to be truly compelling I needed to spread suspicion around as much as possible. I know that some of my critics have complained “too may OCs,” but since this story has some whodunit elements, I needed a big cast to keep readers guessing. Hooray to those who figured it out based on the extremely scant clues I put out there.
> 
> When I wrote this story I drew inspiration from my love of the old Encyclopedia Brown books I used to read as a kid. In them the clues were always offhand little details you don't really notice as a kid. Here though I peppered a lot of fake leads around the place. Some of you picked up on them, though a lot of the ones I meant to be more obvious ones seemed to fly past unnoticed. More on this later, but I just wanted to note that I was a bit surprised that Lenny being the mole wasn't a more popular theory, given how mysteriously he'd been written into the background, with no one knowing if he was alive or dead.
> 
> If any of you could share your theories for who was the mole before this came out, I'd really appreciate it!
> 
> This really has been an inevitable ending for Benjy and Danny. While the idea of twincest certainly has a kinky thrill to it, I wanted to ground this in reality a bit more and offer the happiest ending that could be managed in this scenario. Danny and Benjy definitely have a deep connection as revealed by Benjy's dream, but the fact that there's been an asymmetrical recognition of this for so long has led to a very unhealthy codependency situation. Hopefully they get some space to figure things out. If I ever do write a sequel, I'd deffo love to revisit the Kaplan twins.
> 
> And finally, the ricin Jack cooked up WAAAAAAAAAAY back in Chapter 5 finally makes its appearance! Hooray for this little Chekov's Gun. The amount he has there is more than enough to take down a moose (probably), especially since he's administering it as an inhaled agent. Funny story, when I first started researching how to cook up ricin for accuracy's sake I was pretty worried that the real CIA would be on my ass and they'd start looking into my browser history, and then I'd be in REAL trouble. So instead of focusing on accuracy I elected to make up a more or less bullshit recipe and added some electro-swing/jazz dancing into the mix. Gotta be responsible, yo.


	52. Deus Vulp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, Jacob, and Rufinius.

_**ZNN: Fabienne Growley and Peter Moosebridge, 9:00 AM Report:** _

 

_**GROWLEY:** If you are just tuning in, our top story today: at 7:00 AM just this morning, a joint task force of ZIA Agents and ZPD Officers have conducted a massive wave of arrests in the City. Forty-two of Zootopia's wealthy elites have been simultaneously taken in and charged with the shocking crime of mammalian trafficking._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** This jarring report follows a tumultuous series of attacks that have struck Zootopia, of which the most recent was the terrorist attack on Catsro Square. Whether these events are linked is not yet known, as the investigation is pending._

_**GROWLEY:** While the ZIA has insisted on keeping details scant given the scope of this operation, ZPD insiders have come forward claiming that as many as thirty bunnies have been rescued in the process. While eight of the victims have only recently been acquired by the accused, the remaining two dozen have been held in bondage for as long as twenty years._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** The perpetrators who engaged in this vile practice work in a broad array of professions. Among them are doctors, investors, real estate developers, and executives in the entertainment industry. A full list of the accused is currently being compiled. The most up-to-date details can be found on ZNN.com._

_**GROWLEY:** Discussions are already in progress on how best to help rehabilitate the victims in this crime. In a press conference today, Mayor Lionheart has stated that he has already reached out to Bunnyburrow Mayor Jimmy Binks for assistance. Rumors of current events being linked to a rash of disappearances in the farming community sixty years ago has made the Mayor especially sympathetic in offering assistance._

_**JIMMY BINKS (satellite feed, Office of the Mayor, Bunnyburrow):** I and all of Bunnyburrow offer our deepest thanks to the brave mammals of Zootopia. This revelation may, we hope, offer long-awaited closure to the families of the Bunnyburrow citizens who went missing so long ago. While our warrens and our families are large compared to those of most other mammals', this only means that each bunny that has gone missing has left hundreds, if not **thousands** , of loved ones waiting in dread over what may have happened. I cannot emphasize enough how much this means to our community. We will offer all the aid we can to help the rescued survivors recuperate and reintegrate into civilized mammalian society._

_**MOOSEBRIDGE:** Heh. Isn't he adorable?_

 

_~~~~~_

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

I remember the first time I came to the ZIA HQ cafeteria. The muffled sniggers, the smiles the others hid behind their paws. Even the cafeteria workers were fighting off grins when I had to pick up a stool to reach the salad bar. While much of the City had been built to accommodate mammals of all sizes, HQ had been built before the accessibility ordinances kicked in. Most other facilities in similar situations refurbished in a timely fashion, but our need to restrict access meant the gears of the bureaucratic engine here turned much more slowly. It'd taken two years before I could eat here without being humiliated.

Hopping up onto the railing they'd installed for me, I walk along to the coffee counter and pour off a tall cup. I'd gotten a peek at the surveillance footage of the prisoner having breakfast. Just like Wilde, Jacob Frisk preferred his coffee black, but a little touch of sugar never hurt anyone.

Bypassing the creamers and sweeteners on the counter, I take out the little pack I've brought with me and sprinkle it in, mixing it thoroughly. Pulling out the stir-stick I feel the instinctive urge to lick the drop lingering on the wooden end, but I catch myself in time. Instead, I just tap it against the edge of the cup before tossing it into the trash. Popping the lid on, I take it over to the cashier.

So many social media and network companies give their employees free access to their cafeterias these days, and while part of me wishes the ZIA would do that too I also know for a fact that tech workers also end up putting on quite a few pounds because of it. For the ZIA, fitness is a pretty big part of the job. So as it stands, I can't really complain when I plunk down a single buck for the coffee. While meals here aren't free, they are at least cheap.

“Thank you,” I say to the bored-looking panda behind the counter. He gives me a sleepy nod.

I walk down the hall, cup in paw, to the detention center. The badger at the security desk smiles, peering down at me as I swipe my ID card.

“Mornin', Agent Savage. Er, I'm afraid the rules say you can't take that in here,” he says, pointing to the coffee I'm carrying.

“Morning, Franco. Say, do me a favor. I hear Jacob Frisk is gonna have a talk with the DA at ten today. It's a bit early right now, but I was thinking maybe you could bring him to the interview room and I could have a little chat with him before then?”

“All right, lemme pull up his file...” Franco says, glancing at the clock. It's nine fifteen. Turning to his computer, Franco's eyes widen in alarm when the file comes up. “Hey uh, Agent Savage? Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that. Standing order from the Director here says no one's supposed to let you get anywhere close to Frisk.”

“I'm sure that must be a mistake.”

“Nnnnooo. No mistake. The font is in all caps.”

“That's silly.”

“And red.”

“You can check me again for weapons. I'm not carrying.”

“And it's blinking.” Franco squints as he leans in closer. “How did they _do_ that? This is a PDF file.”

“Look,” I smile, “Franco. Buddy. I'm not going to do anything. If you're really worried about Seraphine finding out you can always just put the security cameras on loop.”

“Agent Savage, I admire your work and all, but this is really serious. I can't just-”

“How's your mother doing, Franco?”

If there'd been any remaining hint of his friendly smile, it's completely gone now. His throat bobs in a heavy swallow.

“Wh- what?”

“Stage 3 hepatic carcinoma, isn't it?” I say, tilting my head and trying to look sympathetic. “I'm really sorry, man. I know how hard it is, potentially losing a parent. I was only eight years old when it happened to me, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm still pretty messed up about it. Which is why I'm trying to help here.”

I pull an envelope out of my pocket.

“Cashier's check for forty thousand bucks, and a reference to an oncologist in Paris. He's working on some very compelling stromal therapy research when it comes to hepatic carcinomas, and he owes me a favor. He should be able to squeeze your mom into his current therapeutic trials. It's in the last trial stages so it's proven to be safe, and the results are pretty amazing from what I hear.”

Franco gulps and reaches for the envelope with an unsteady paw, but I pull it back before he can get his claws on it.

“But first... the interview room, please? And maybe it'd be a good idea to put the cameras on loop?”

Franco nods, his expression blank. Typing in a few commands and placing a call to the security officers on duty, I wait at the desk until Frisk is moved to the interview room.

“Thank you,” I tell Franco as I pass him the envelope. “Best of luck. Also, do me a favor and double check that the recording devices are turned off? I know that District Attorney Vash is planning to have an off-the-record chat with the prisoner to hash out the details.”

“Yeah...” the badger says in a daze. “Thanks, Agent Savage.”

I arrive at the interview room. Frisk's paws are cuffed to a ring bolted into the middle of the table, which itself is bolted to the floor. They must've rushed him out, because his fur is still damp from the showers, and he seems pretty tired. He's sprawled over the table, resting his cheek on the surface, when he opens one eye and looks at me.

He doesn't seem surprised.

Jacob Cornelius Frisk. Finally, we meet muzzle-to-muzzle. I hadn't seen him in twenty years. Even in Cairo I'd only gotten a glimpse of him when he fled. But I'll never forget those tired green eyes, that deceptively calm demeanor. This is the fox who'd haunted my dreams for decades. The one I'd imagined doing unspeakable things to in my fantasies. The one who'd put a gun to my mother's head and, without flinching, blown her brains out as my brother screamed and I hid in that log.

I was one of the few mammals who'd ever seen his face and come out of it alive. There'd been no photographic records of him. At least, none that'd been a clear picture. But his features had been burned into my memory on that night long ago. The moment I saw that photo of Nick Wilde... the photo that Miles had prompted me to check out on the flight back to Zootopia which started this whole debacle, I knew. I knew _instantly_ when I saw that pointed muzzle and round head, those wily green eyes. That Nick Wilde was Jacob Frisk's son.

It takes every ounce of willpower in me to stay calm, standing here in front of him. It's so fucking hard to stay in control, because when he looks at me there's no skin-tingling fear in his gaze. No blistering hatred. No burning lust for fucking the cute striped bunny in front of him, like a Frisk would feel. No, it's just bored curiosity. A mild dislike, at best. He looks at me like he's seeing an old classmate pass by on the street, a face familiar enough to recognize but not familiar enough to stop for a chat.

“I know you foxes are nocturnal, so you must be tired. Here, I got you a coffee,” I say, placing the cup on the table.

He straightens, looking down at me.

“The Tiger Lily...” he says slowly, “Agent Jack Savage himself. It's been a long time.”

“I think we can do away with the pleasantries,” I say, taking the seat opposite to him.

“I'm supposed to talk to the District Attorney in about half an hour,” he yawns. “He's got the finalized details for my clemency after I gave all that intelligence to the ZIA. I've already told your people everything I know, so I'm not sure why you're here.”

“There's no need to be coy,” I smile. “You know why I'm here.”

He puts up his paws in a 'you got me' gesture. “Fine. All right. You want a confession.”

“Of all the information you gave the ZIA, you told us nothing of your own crimes, Frisk,” I say, folding my paws in front of me. “I know for a fact that you're a killer. But for all the juicy details you gave, you've said nothing about your own involvement with the Vulpes Sanguinis.”

“I _do_ have the right to not self-incriminate,” he says, mouth curving into an infuriatingly casual smile. “But... I'll give this one to you, Savage. Because I'm nice. You saw the whole thing, didn't you? Hiding there in that log. You wet yourself if I recall... no shame in that, honestly. You were young.”

What. The. Fuck.

He'd known. Jacob had known all this time. Is my heart still beating? Because the hollow thudding inside me can't possibly be a pulse.

Frisk must've recognized the shock on my face, because he continues to explain.

“There's an adrenaline rush when you kill someone, I'm sure you know. When I put that bullet through poor Daisy's skull... with the blood pumping through my veins, the energy coursing through my nerves and lighting up all my senses... I could tell you were there. But at the same time your brother had pissed himself too, so for someone whose senses weren't as acute, your presence just ten feet away had been masked by your brother.”

That smug, superior tone. There's hints of his father in the way he speaks. My paws ball up into fists. I'm trembling with rage. If possible, I hate him now more than I ever thought possible. I _despise_ the fact that he'd turned himself in.

Jacob Frisk was supposed to have been _mine_. And to see him sitting here, safe and sound under the protective custody of the ZIA...

“Why the fuck are you telling me this now?!” I hiss. “What do you _want_? A 'thank you' for not ratting me out? Do you want me to suck your cock for sparing my life?!”

“That would be nice. But no, of course not. I'm not expecting any mercy here. The _real_ question is what _you_ want from _me_. You say you want a confession but...” his eyes flick to the camera in the corner of the room. The little red indicator light is off. “Well, it's clear that this session isn't being recorded.”

“I want you to _feel,_ ” I snarl, stabbing a finger into the tabletop, “ _Everything_ that I feel right now. _Everything_ I've _felt_ for the last twenty years."

“You think I don't feel? That I'm just some murderous, cold-blooded fox?”

“You _ARE_ a murderer.”

“And so are you,” he retorts, muzzle wrinkling, “How many lives have you ended, Agent Savage? How many mammals have looked down the end of your pistol and saw their last moments in front of them? You tried to murder my _son_ for the sake of your vendetta against me.”

"I did what I had to do to protect this City."

"And I did what I had to to protect my _family_."

I stare at him incredulously. The absolute _gall_ of this mammal to compare me to him!

“You see?” Frisk shrugs, “We both feel the same thing, Mr. Savage. Foxes are just better at hiding it. I think what you want is an apology.”

For a long, pregnant moment he just sits there, saying nothing.

“ _...Well?_ ”

“What?” he snorts, “What would that help? How would it give you closure, Mr. Savage? 'I'm sorry I killed your mother?' Would that bring her back? Or your brother?”

“Say it. _Say it!_ ” I snap, grabbing the front of his shirt. “There's no recording of this session. No one can hear you _scream_.”

But he just stares at me with those ever-placid green eyes, like beads of hard jade.

“Would that make an apology any sweeter?” he muses with infuriating calm. “That I was forced to give it under duress? No, the truth is that won't satisfy you. I might've put the bullet in Daisy's head, but I only did that because my father would've killed my wife and my son if I didn't. _He's_ the real bad guy here. _He's_ the one you've been chasing all these years.”

“Your father is dead. Or so you claimed.”

“Yes. And now that he's gone, you're looking for the next villain to take the blame. The next big bad that you can bring retribution to. And I'm the only Frisk left, aren't I? That's the only thing that'll give you closure. To look at my face, see that I'm the sum of all you've loathed for over twenty years. To look into the eye of the same evil, irredeemable fox you saw when you were eight years old, hiding in that log in a puddle of your own making, and know that once he's behind bars he'll never haunt your dreams again.”

 _The nightmares will never end_ , I tell myself. _**Never**_.

I need my pain. I _need_ my hate. They're the only things that've kept me going these past twenty years. They've driven me to become the Agent I am today, pushed me past my limitations and helped me survive things that've killed bigger and stronger mammals.

Jacob Frisk is the source of all of this, and here he is sitting right across from me not even giving me the satisfaction of seeing me as a foe. The way he's looking at me, almost with _pity_ in his eyes, and an amused half-smile on his face.

“You want to blame me for everything that went wrong in your life, Agent Savage? Fine. Go ahead and blame me. But I just want you to know, you're not the only one who's suffered here.”

I let go of his collar in disgust. “You don't get to play the martyr.”

“Of course not,” Frisk says casually. “Martyrs have to die in the end. And with the cooperation I've provided, all the intel for hunting down the remaining Praetors... we both know the death penalty is off the table.”

He pulls the cup towards him.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

He pulls off the lid with his left paw.

My eye twitches when I see that. It's like a switch has gone off in my head. Before he can lift the cup and put it to his mouth I grab his wrist. Though the coffee sloshes back and forth I'd filled it up an inch from the rim, and not a drop spills from the edge. Taking the lid from him, I pop it back onto the cup.

Frisk's pupils shrink back in surprise, and he looks at me with a puzzled and fearful expression as I gently pull the coffee from his grasp. His claws scrape the cardboard surface as it slips from his fingers, as if he's hesitant to let it go. For a moment it looks like he's about to grab at the cup, but instead he sits back and stares at me as I scoot away.

“This one's gone cold...” I say, turning to leave. “I'll get a fresh one for you.”

Just as I reach the door however, he calls out to me.

“Jack! Agent Savage!”

I turn to look at him. He seems like a wholly different mammal now. That smug expression has vanished completely, shed like a theater mask. He's leaning forward, as if eager to plead. When he speaks again his voice is quiet and subdued... like this is him. The _real_ Jacob Frisk finally coming out to play.

“I did it.”

My paw is on the doorknob, but I turn towards him, drawn to his gaze like a magnet. “Is... is that a confession?”

“You don't remember, do you?” he murmurs.

“Remember what?”

“There was a lot of work when we were abandoning the Farm. It wasn't just a matter of moving equipment and bunnies. We had to sift through records, sort out which ones needed to be kept and which ones needed to be burned. The researchers had a bunch of biological samples in cold storage, and those had to be packed carefully and kept frozen for the move. So much work... you'd think a small family of bunnies might be able to get away unnoticed.”

My eyebrows furrow as I stare him down. “I don't understand.”

“Who was it that unlocked your cell?” he asks. “Who told your mother to take you South, to Bunnyburrow?”

It's as if cold fingers have slipped into my chest and curled around my heart the moment those words come out of his mouth.

The memory comes as a dim echo. “ _South_ ,” the red fox had said. That night had been all about our terrified flight through the woods, evading the Praetors chasing us. It'd been about the crack of a gunshot, the spray of blood from my mother's temple. My brother's screams as the Smiler seized him. The storm of fear and pain and loss had washed away anything too flimsy to root itself in my mind. But the moment he mentions it I remember, dimly. The memory had just been bereft of the thorns needed to dig into my mind and plant itself deep. Too contrary to what I'd known all my life to survive the days of catatonia I'd suffered after.

“ _South... to Bunnyburrow..._ ” It'd been so hard to imagine a red fox wanting to help us bunnies. Easier to believe it'd been a figment of my imagination. Those bright green eyes, frightened for us and for what he was doing as he ushered us out of our cell and into the cool night air.

_No. No, don't do this. Don't take away the last enemy I have..._

“I'm sorry...” Jacob Frisk murmurs, his voice cracking. “About your mother. I didn't want to kill her. I've told myself for years that her death was inevitable, that it didn't matter who pulled the trigger. She was dead the moment she was caught. But that'd always been an excuse. The truth is I was weak and I was a coward... I've _always_ been a weak coward.

“When I close my eyes and think of everything I've done hers is the face that comes up first, every time. I only hope she knew that you were safe in that log that night. That you would be free.”

His fingers press into the side of his cheek, claws digging into his fur. When he looks up at me again there's a pain in his eyes that I know all too well. A pain I've seen every time I looked into the mirror.

“I'm sorry...” he says one last time.

A hot shiver runs down my spine, and I have to swallow back the hard lump in my throat. Only then do I realize my mouth had been hanging half-open as I had my eyes locked to his.

“Th-thank you...” I say in a strangled whisper.

In the nearest bathroom I've closed the door and locked it. I've clambered up to the sink, and I'm sitting on the edge, legs folded in front of me. Popping the lid off of the cup I stare into the inky black liquid, contemplating the dark reflection in the rippling surface. The stripes along my cheeks look like jagged fangs. When have I ever looked so pensive about my past? So unsure about my future?

Holding the cup with both paws, I bring the cup to my mouth.

For a while it lingers there, just a fraction away from my lips. The smell of it is sharp and smoky, and my breaths stir the surface. I tell myself to be brave, that maybe... just _maybe_ this is the right thing to do.

But instead I tilt it, pouring the coffee down the drain.

The moment continues to stretch on as the complete pointlessness of my existence settles in and I begin to feel as empty as the cup beside me, drained of the poison I'd so carefully prepared and nurtured for so long. Jacob Frisk hadn't just robbed me of my family. He's taken my purpose in life. My revenge against Rufinius. And now, he's taken away the hatred I've clung to for all these years.

For a while I just sit there staring into the sink, my mind going blank. But then I see the spots that begin to dot the brown residue clinging to the porcelain. Clear and glassy, the drops wash away the poison.

For the first time in years, I let myself cry.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jacob Cornelius Frisk** _

 

I sit in the interview room as the minutes crawl past. Deep down I'm in this strangely calm state of mind, but my body is still trembling over what'd just happened.

This wasn't how it was supposed to pan out. Jack Savage... he was so close to getting what he wanted. I was willing to give it to him, too. Not a confession he could use to convict me, or even an apology for what I'd done. No, more than anything he wanted the satisfaction of executing the caricatured villain he'd thought I was all these years. Then he wouldn't have had any reason to get to me through Nicholas.

Why did he stop me? Did he somehow, at the last moment, realize that I knew what he was doing? More importantly, is Nicholas safe from him, now that he's apparently changed his mind about assassinating me?

It was the last thing I could do for my son. Satisfy Jack Savage's need for revenge. Erase myself from the public record before I'm moved to Highwatch. If the other inmates there saw me, if they recognized the relationship between Jacob Frisk and Nicholas Wilde... it would put my son's life in danger. Jacob Frisk had to die so that Nick Wilde could live.

It'd been a desperate move, giving Jack the truth when my attempt to manipulate him into the best-case scenario failed. By the look on his face he seems to have genuinely accepted my apology. Or he was just too completely shocked to process it all at the moment. I still can't be sure that crazy rabbit won't try to hurt my boy just to get to me.

Oh, what a pickle.

It's only a minute until ten when the doorknob turns again, and a fox with a cream-colored coat and a dark suit steps in. His bright red tie has a paisley pattern to it. That makes me wince. I never want to see paisley ever again.

He sits across from me with a cool expression on his face as he opens the folder he'd been carrying.

“Mr. Jacob Frisk... I must say, the information you've supplied has been immensely useful indeed. As per our agreement, your son will not be charged with any crimes, and the paperwork has been put through to secure his release.”

“That's good to hear...” I sigh. Not that it'd been a big request, really. With my testimony, even the most ruthless prosecutor would have a hard time finding any charges to level against Nick at all. “And the Sanguinis facilities?”

Tarquin looks at me, eyes narrowing as if trying to determine how much he should divulge. “Well...” he finally admits, “international news agencies are reporting on the matter already, so I suppose I can tell you. The Sanguinis facilities you've described have been destroyed and the surviving Praetors have fled. Their bank accounts have been seized, and though many of their clients have eluded capture thus far, international intelligence agencies have acquired sufficient evidence to hunt them down in time. Most importantly- well, to me at least... we've recovered the body of Sheila Snow.”

“Yes...” I lower my head. Though Sebastian had thought it should've been a simple matter of dumping her into a river bound with cinder blocks, I'd placed her in cold storage instead, “I... knew you would want her in good condition.”

“I appreciate that,” he says dryly.

“I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know Sebastian would kill her.”

“You didn't expect the Smiler... a mammal _infamous_ for his cruelty, one you've been associates with for _years_ , would kill a vixen just to make a point.”

“He's usually more subtle,” I say, unable to meet his gaze. All I can do is stare at my paws. “I suppose... he must've been in a good mood that night.”

Tarquin sighs.

“Well... I guess I can't actually blame you for that. Despite everything that's happened...” his gaze flicks momentarily to the deactivated camera. “It _is_ good to see you again, Uncle.”

My mouth twitches into a smile.

“Little Tarquin... how far you've come in life.”

“I'm sure Nicholas would've done just as well if he had the advantages I did,” he shrugs. “Papa Dear was wise to keep his mistress hidden, given old Rufinius' feelings about us half-breeds.”

“If only I'd done the same.”

“You can't blame yourself,” Tarquin says, reaching out to hold my paw. “Heh. Funny Uncle John. Remember when you used to carry me on your shoulders? And then you just _had_ to walk though that low-hanging door that one time.”

“Your mother was furious,” I chuckle. “Do you know how awful I felt about that?”

“Oh it wasn't my first bump on the head. I've just always been a crybaby.”

“You've had a good life, though. The first fox District Attorney in Zootopia... Your parents would've been proud,” I sigh. “But Tarquin... are you safe?”

“You mean does anyone else know I'm technically a Frisk?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Hopefully the ZIA is too busy sorting out this whole mess to notice I'm the one who traced Elkredge's cell phone records. But the associate of mine who helped me with our little mole hunt knows. I'm sure Seraphine does too. She's sharp for a snow leopard. And if she didn't suspect before, she must've certainly figured it out when I gave her that USB drive you snuck me.”

Tarquin had been paralyzed in terror, still covered with his lover's blood when I snuck him _that_ little gem. His paws had been clutching a bloodstained pillow to cover his nudity when I secretly pressed it on him while wrapping up Sheila's body.

A message in a bottle, pleading for his help in hunting down the mole within the ZPD. And a treasure trove of intelligence as well. I couldn't give him details on all of the Prince's plans, not with how Dad always kept things close to his chest. But I could pass him intelligence on Praetor combat techniques and tactics, along with the number of mammals we had working for us.

Seraphine had clearly put it all to good use when she built the RACER division.

“Uncle John...” he begins, but I cut him off immediately.

“Best to forget that name. Even when we're alone. John Wilde is dead, and my son is safer that way.”

“Very well...” Tarquin says carefully. “Jacob... you've been immensely helpful, but the citizens of Zootopia still demand _some_ accountability. I was able to convince the Mayor that you should, at most, be charged with tendering aid to a terrorist organization. Chances are, the judge will give you a ten-year sentence for this when he considers how helpful you've been. Possibly less, with good behavior.”

“More leniency than I deserve...” I sigh.

“You could earn more...” Tarquin presses. “Surely you can't expect the Mayor to be satisfied with just your word that Rufinius is dead. Chief Bogo and Director Seraphine are quite adamant on this point as well. Please. You have to give us _something_ in the way of proof.”

My only response is a coy smile.

Dead? Not exactly. But as good as.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Rufinius Varius Frisk** _

 

_I stare down the barrel of the gun. Calm. Placid. I have a heart of stone, and I will not be moved._

_“You will not do this, Prodigal...” I say calmly. “I understand all too well how you fear for your progeny, and I will forgive this transgression if you lower your weapon._ _**Now** _ _.”_

_His laughter is tinged with bitterness, like an improperly cleaned lobe of goose liver still spotted with bile. An acrid tang that spoils the sweetness. “Do you, Dad?_ _**Do** _ _you really understand?”_

_“Must you ask, Prodigal?”_

_“Yes. Yes of course I need to ask!” he snaps. “All these years I've worked for you how many times have you called me by my name? How many times have you recognized me as your_ _**son** _ _?”_

_“Prodigal... Jacob-”_

_“No, Dad! I gave up trying to win your approval the moment I moved out of this viper's den when I was sixteen! I don't need your help to protect my family anymore!”_

_“You know that is a lie. My inside sources tell me Nicholas has refused to cooperate with his captors, and that means he, at least, still remains within my good graces. But after enduring the ZIA's bumbling, the City Council is demanding more transparency. More direct civilian involvement. That means your son will be sent to Highwatch, far from ZIA protection.”_

_“I know that already,” Jacob snaps._

_“And yet you don't seem to understand what that_ _**means** _ _. Jack Savage will surely try to murder your son now. Once he recovers from his injuries, with his talents, he will infiltrate Highwatch_ _**easily** _ _.”_

_“Stop it, Dad. Stop manipulating me. Stop trying to hide behind your half-truths and your emotional blackmail.”_

_“You know for a_ _**fact** _ _that I am not trying to deceive you now. Your son is in grave danger. And only the resources of the Vulpes Sanguinis-”_

_“What resources?!” he laughs. “Nearly all your Praetors in the City are dead. All the henchmammals killed or captured. It's down to just me and Sebastian now, and you_ _**know** _ _he can't beat me in a fight.”_

_“I have someone on the inside, Jacob. Someone who can secure Nicholas' escape. I have been planning to order him to do just this, but if you shoot me now...”_

_“I don't need your 'protection' anymore. The only thing I want from you now is the answer to a question I've been pondering for years...”_

_I raise an eyebrow. This has been long in coming._

_“How did my identity get leaked to the Leonis Pride?” he demands, in a voice hard and merciless as steel. “Who saw to it that I was assaulted?”_

_“No one 'saw to it' that you were attacked, Jacob,” I tell him. He snorts when I use his name again, as if he hadn't implicitly demanded it. Completely unreasonable. His passions have always floated closer to the surface. “I told you long ago. When the Leonis Pride captured the Praetors-”_

_“Bullshit! You sold me out! You were my_ _**father** _ _, and you sold me out to the Pride. You let my identity leak to them and you let them_ _**beat** _ _me._ _**Torture** _ _me, just so you could put me in a position where I had to beg you for help! All those long, wasted years as your lapdog... it was always_ _**you** _ _, wasn't it?!”_

_He's trembling, his cheeks are soaked with tears. How had I ever seen any potential in this one, milk-hearted as a vixen? How could such week seed come from my loins?_

_“I will not dignify that with an answer, boy. But just know that if you pull that trigger, you are dooming Nicholas. And you will no longer be my son.”_

_He chuckles then, and it's a high, giddy laugh. The laugh of a drunkard or a madman._

_“Good. Because in the world I want to I want to live in? It's one that no longer has need for a Prince.”_

 

~~~~~

 

Cold.

That is the first sensation I meet when I begin to wake. Cold and hard, and the feeling of a coarse linen blanket. I have long grown accustomed to waking in my silken sheets and the feel of a bunny's soft mouth on me, coaxing me to fullness before he slips me inside him and swirls on my lap until I reach orgasm. The feeling of waking up like this is so foreign that at first I believe I am in the middle of a nightmare.

“Wine...” I order with a croak. My throat is so dry. How long have I been sleeping? “Jewel... Amber... fetch me wine...”

When I receive no answer my first thought is that it would be a shame to have to beat them. My bunnies are well-trained, and they should've long grown past the need for such harsh disciplinary measures. But my usual pillow slaves are not here.

When I finally blink myself fully awake and realize this is no dream, I remember. The sharp pain of a tranq dart, being dragged half-conscious into the trunk of a car. The Prodigal, laughing as if he'd gone insane.

I look around. The chamber I'm in is ten feet on a side, the walls are solid concrete. There is a toilet here, and a sink. Cold metal, all of it, suitable more for a prison than anything that would offer a modicum of comfort. LCD bulbs mounted in deep recesses ten feet up provide a soft and lukewarm light. Far up the ceiling there is a trap door, fifteen feet high. Impossible to reach.

Across from me however, is another door.

Prodigal. Jacob. What have you _done_?

I am completely naked when I throw the rag of a blanket off of myself. Not that I mind nudity, but the thought that my son had stripped me bare while I was unconscious sends a spike of fury and disgust through me. Such a thing is a morbid violation of the filial respect I am due. An abomination.

Beside me is a small mp3 player. Picking it up, I press the button to play it as I approach the door.

“ _Hello, Dad_ ,” the Prodigal's voice is a happy chirp. I cannot recall ever seeing any sign of happiness in him in the past twenty years. The cheerful tone is alien. Aberrant, even. “ _Nick? Say hello to your grandfather._ ”

“ _Uh, hi,_ ” Nicholas' now-familiar voice comes through.

“ _If you're hearing this, then all has gone as planned_ ,” the Prodigal continues, “ _I should've found your mole in the ZPD by the time you wake up. I'm sure you absolutely hate the accommodations. My only regret now is that I won't be able to see the look on your face when you come around and find yourself locked in a bunker. No slaves, no décor, no rich silks or fine cuisine.”_

I tug at the doorknob. It's locked, as expected with the security keypad just beneath it.

“ _Did you just try the door?_ ” the Prodigal says in such a smug, mischievous tone. “ _Or are you listening to my full message first before you do anything? You've always been the cautious type. Well, don't worry. I'll give you the combination code once I'm done. But you'd best listen carefully, because once this message finishes playing this recording will self-destruct. These are my final words to you, dad. I will never give you the pleasure of hearing my voice ever again._ ”

Prodigal. You little worm. You worthless, treacherous piece of shit. If it weren't for my duty as a loyal son I never would've made you. I never would've wasted my seed in your mother's slimy cunt.

“ _The bunker you're in is something I commissioned about five years ago with some funds I was able to embezzle from beneath your nose. The amount was so small that I knew you'd never notice. It's a bit on the outskirts of Bunnyburrow if you're wondering where you are. There's plenty of ventilation, a nondescript little cistern and some solar panels to offer plenty of water and light. But after I placed you in here I should've sealed the trap door with concrete, so don't even bother trying to escape. I'd like to think that someday Bunnyburrow will expand over the area, maybe build a little festival ground over the site so that rabbits will quite literally be dancing on your grave.”_

The Sanguinis will find me, Prodigal. And then they will hunt you down. I will give your whore of a wife to Sebastian. I will have your bastard son given to him as well. You will spend every waking moment for the rest of your life listening to their screams, watching them bleed, smelling the aroma of burnt fur and blistered flesh and warm piss as your whelp and your bitch soil themselves in their agony.

“ _I know you're probably wondering how I did it. Well, you're a clever tod. And you have plenty of time to yourself to mull over your mistakes. But suffice it to say that I have, quite proudly, betrayed you in every way I could. One of the first things I did when we returned to the City was to feed Praetor combat tactics and resources to the ZIA, so if there've been any major defeats concerning the Praetors, you know who to blame._ ”

The attack on Catsro Square. The massacre of my Praetors by Seraphine's RACER units...

“ _And by now, I should be in ZIA custody. I'll be divulging the locations and makeups of all the secret bases, providing the ZIA with all the information I have on your secret bank accounts. With luck, in a few weeks the Vulpes Sanguinis will be hunted to extinction. That ancient lineage you've always been so proud of, that can be traced back to the Patricians of Rome? It ends, here and now. With you in the hole and my son alive and free from your clutches._ ”

The weight of the loss hits me then. It's inconceivable. A thousand years of tradition, of carefully cultivated bloodline purity... all _undone_ by this traitor... he didn't even _deserve_ the name of 'Prodigal.'

“ _That's the thing... you never understood the power that comes from a genuine bond between a father and his son. All your stratagems are built on distrust and coercion., to the point that these two things became dogmas that you never thought could fail. But me and Nick here... we've struck on something deeper. Something brilliant and powerful. And that's why this whole time you've been blind to me and Nick moving against you, and why we were successful in the end._

“ _Things didn't have to end this way, you know. You never had to die in a hole in the ground, forgotten by the world and standing beneath even what you consider the lowest of creatures. I would've been happy with my own life. With a little tailor shop, just me and Nick... Wilde and Son's..._ ”

He makes soft choking sound.

“ _W-well... it's all over now I suppose. 58412, Dad. Hate me all you like, but I don't plan on letting you just starve to death. Not when I've finally locked you in a hell of your own making._ ”

I press the buttons in sequence, fuming the whole time. My heart is racing. Food. I have food and water and so much time on my paws. A clever fox can escape anything. A disciplined mind can seek out the smallest weakness and break the puzzle.

“ _Goodbye, Dad. I'll see you on the other side._ ”

The doorknob turns with a click.

Trays. Hundreds upon hundreds of flimsy cardboard trays lie stacked throughout the room. Each one holds dozens upon dozens of candy bars, all in bright orange wrappers. And across from the room a large paper banner had been hung up, with the product's logo splashed over it, the slogan in eye-wrenching bright pastels.

_**Try Carroty Yum-Yums! With Carroty Yum-Yums in every BITE!** _

I can only stare at mass of carrot-orange before me. A flood of carrots. A _plague_ of it. My brilliant mind, once so alive and busy, is completely blank. And in the silence only one word comes to mind, a futile little shout against the grim fate ahead of me.

“...Fuck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit of a headache at the mo, so I'll keep the commentary today light. This is the last chapter I was able to work on while I was on vacation, and it was a strange contrast typing this up while overlooking a beautiful tropical beach. I notice that a lot of my ideas on how to frame things come off as more dramatic, and once I start writing I have to scale things back to keep the scene from getting too maudlin. For example, I had been planning on Jack throwing a huge tantrum in the restroom smashing the shit out of a paper towel dispenser. But him just quietly mourning the loss of everything in his life is much more effective, I think.
> 
> And yay! Finally we get to why Tarquin was constantly escaping his ZIA handlers, supposedly on the pretext of just wanting to get some fancy meals (when in truth he WAS consorting with a Frisk beyond the eyes and ears of the ZPD/ZIA, but it was with Jacob, not Rufinius). I've been hoping that this would lead to people suspecting he was the mole. Conall was a bit too obvious, while Lenny was likely way too subdued. Tarquin's odd behavior was meant to throw up some red flags, but it seems like I tossed him too deep into the background and people seem to have forgotten about him completely.
> 
> I had given some pretty hefty clues that Tarquin was not simply a very prominent lawyer in Zootopia, however. For one, Tarquin is a shameless epicurian who is very fond of fine food and wine. This is a trait he has in common with his great-uncle Rufinius (Tarquin is the illegitimate child of one of Rufinius' older brothers' kids who died in the Blood Wars). For another, ALL the Frisks have a Roman component in their name: Nicholas *Piberius* Wilde (based on the Roman name Tiberius, in reference to the Tiber river). *Rufinius* *Varius* Frisk (Rufinius == Wolf, for his ferocity, Varius == changing or versatile, in reference to his chaotic nature). Jacob *Cornelius* Frisk (meaning horn, and was also the name of an angel in the New Testament as well as the name of several Saints, a reference to Jacob being on the side of good).
> 
> "Tarquin" is a very old and very rare Roman name of uncertain meaning, but historically is associated with an early Roman king named Tarquin the Proud. Though he could be considered a villain in his era, his actions nonetheless inadvertently led to the downfall of the Roman Kingdom and the rise of the Republic. Still quite appropriate, I think.
> 
> Also, if you go back to the end of Chapter 2, remember that the Smiler had the following to say to Tarquin after he killed Sheila:
> 
> [“Obey,” (Sebastian) says brightly, “and the Prince will consider you family. The Vulpes Sanguinis takes care of its own.”]
> 
> This wasn't just a throwaway line. Sebastian was basically saying "You're not really a TRUE Frisk, just a half-breed bastard son. But if you obey, we will ADOPT you back into the family given your tenuous heritage. The Vulpes Sanguinis will legitimize you." This was also why Tarquin immediately recognized Sebastian Dusk in that hotel room. He knew who Sebastian was because he was a Frisk.
> 
> Of course, this raises the question of "If Tarquin was known to be a Frisk, why didn't Rufinius recruit him instead of Nick as his heir?" Easy answer: Rufinius never liked his siblings, so he had no real fondness for his great-nephews either. Obsessed with bloodlines, Rufinius much preferred a direct line of succession. Plus Tarquin was just too HONEST. Despite him lying about his heritage, Tarquin really did work hard to earn a squeaky-clean reputation and his loyalties genuinely do lie with the good of Zootopia.
> 
> Finally: Another Chekov's Gun fired. References to Carroty Yum-Yums, as well as references to Rufinius' hatred of carrots, were sprinkled about since the beginning just to build up to this moment. The hard part was coming up with a name for a carrot-based candy bar that was corny and stupid enough to stick in your mind.
> 
> I have threee chapters left in mind. 55 will be the finale.
> 
> Anyways this is way more than I intended too detail. I'm spent!


	53. Time to Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Jack mull over plans for a date, Seraphine has tea with Jack, Judy and Nick have a long drive back home.

_**Skye** _

 

It's funny, you see handicap access routes everywhere and in the back of your mind you might have a passing thought about the mammals they're supposed to serve. But once you're actually in the position to use 'em you realize how much of a pain in the ass they are at first. I mean granted, having to wheel up a twenty-foot long ramp is preferable to being cut off from a building entirely, but the fact that I used to be able to get up a flight of steps in a third of the time is still all too fresh.

“I'm coming!” I call, wheeling over to the door. I've always prided myself on my fitness, so I'd opted out of the motorized chair option. But after rolling around all day I'm sore from my wrists to my shoulders. Part of me wishes the my doctor had pushed back a little harder when I said I preferred manual.

I already know it's Jack. It's the way his finger lingers on the button a hair longer, since he needs to reach up to press it. But it's still new to me, pulling the door open as I wheel around to give him some space. No more sultry poses leaning on the frame or coy peeking through the slight opening before I let him in. For a while, at least.

He's standing there, holding a bouquet of orange roses and wearing a hesitant smile. An unusual color for some, but he and I both know what they mean.

“Well...” I say, nodding for him to come in as I roll down the hall. “About damn time you showed up.”

His mouth twitches, and the smile slips just a hair as he takes off his jacket and hangs it on my coat rack. I'd meant it to be teasing... Jack knows my sense of humor tends to be a bit piercing, but this is the first time we've seen each other since I woke up in the hospital. Maybe I should soften my tone.

“You're looking well,” Jack says, climbing onto the counter and helping himself to the cupboards. We know each other too well to bother with the usual back and forth of asking for permission and the 'oh no please, go right ahead's.

“I'm just starting my third week in rehab. Doc says there's a decent chance I'll walk again.”

“That's... good to hear,” Jack says as he takes out an old vase and fills it with water. “I've been asking around some of our old contacts. You remember Dr. Sondheim? Guy who patched us up after that mission in Bearlin? He knows a guy working on this nerve regeneration therapy... I... was thinking...”

“I'd rather not talk about medical stuff,” I sigh, propping my head up in one paw. “I have to deal with enough of that shit every day for the past few weeks.”

“Oh...” Jack says as he takes a pair of shears out from the drawer. One by one he's snipping the stem of each rose before he places it into the vase. I've never seen him so uncertain. “Well... what do you wanna talk about?”

“I dunno. You doing anything tonight?”

“Well...” Jack says, giving a hesitant smile, “I was... thinking it might be nice to have a night out.”

“We could go dancing,” I smirk.

Jack blinks, and it takes a split second before he counters, “Maybe a midnight swim? The artificial beaches in Sahara Square can be lovely.”

“Tandem bike ride through the Rainforest district? You know I love the challenging terrain.”

“Skiing down the slopes in Tundratown...” Jack says, snipping the end from another rose. He's sitting on the counter, his feet dangling over the edge. Those glacial blue eyes are focused at a spot on the floor.

“Skye...” he says softly. “I'm... sorry I haven't visited you. Ever since you woke up out of that coma I've just- with what happened...”

“Jack...” I say, putting a paw on his leg.

He places the rose on the counter and puts down the shears.

“I'm sorry,” Jack murmurs, “I never should've sent you to do recon alone. I should've assigned someone to be with you that night. It's my fault that this happened, it's...”

He turns away then, unable to meet my gaze.

“That's funny...” I say wryly. “I though it was Jacob Frisk who threw me off that balcony.”

It's odd, having been so sure this whole time that it'd been Nick Wilde. I mean, I'd never even seen Jacob Frisk before. Almost no one had, Jack being the main exception. But maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it couldn't have been Wilde. Maybe that's why I just couldn't hold it against him.

“Listen, Jack...” I say, reaching up to cup his face. His head is so small, like a little apple. “I knew the risks when I took this job. We all did. Going to the Nocturnal District was _my_ decision. You don't get to take that from me. Got it?”

His smaller paw holds mine, thumb stroking the fur along my fingers.

I pick up the rose he'd just trimmed, running the blossom along my cheek. It's so plump and dewy, cool to the touch, as if it'd been freshly trimmed from the bush. Orange... like the sunsets we'd watch on the porch of that tropical beach house in Catcun. It's the color of passionfruit iced tea, and it brings up memories of warm sand beneath my feet and a blue-green sea, foamy and green like pale jade when it kissed the beach, night-dark where it met the sky at the horizon. I still remember the smell of the oil diffuser in the living room: spicy and smoky with a cloying sweetness to it at the end... like incense and aged honey.

“Skye...” Jack says, hopping off the counter. He straightens his tie and gulps. “I- I'm honestly not sure how I'm supposed to do this. I mean, usually the thing to do is to go to a restaurant or a nice beach, but I know you hate that sort of theater. So...”

He reaches into his pocket and goes down on one knee.

“Skye...” Jack says, pulling out the ring box and opening it up for me. His eyes are bright and dewy, and the way he looks at me is apologetic. Almost pleading, “I... know we're good for each other. And we love each other. And this has been a long time coming, and I probably should've asked you _ages_ ago but...”

Jack trails off. For a good long while I stare at the box.

“Jack,” my eyes turn up from the ring and meet his, “Why are you doing this?”

His mouth twitches, and he swallows. As if subconsciously begging me to say yes, he pushes the ring closer. I've never been into engagement rings, though rob enough jewelry stores you develop an eye for 'em. It's quite a pretty little rock: one-point-two carats, minimum, with an asscher cut in a three-stone setting. Rose gold, too... and a vintage style that kinda hints at art deco. Must've cost him a good hunk of his paycheck.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this, Jack? Are you still feeling guilty? Are you just promising you'll take care of me?” I don't mind that sort of chivalry necessarily. In small, doses at least. “Look, never mind. I don't care. We both know it couldn't work. Things are just too _complicated_.”

“We can simplify things...” he pleads. “Skye... it's _over_. This whole nightmare is behind us. All these years I've been working to get this mission done. But I think... I think I can start to let it go. And I can _move on_...”

“Jack...” I sigh, and I take him by the wrist and pull him towards me. “Jack, you know I love you. But I think if you just take a moment to be honest with yourself, you'll have to admit that you didn't get what you wanted out of this. You didn't get _closure_. You've been hunting the Frisks for so long... I don't think you know how to do anything else.”

“I just wanna get out of this fucking City...” he whimpers into the nape of my neck. “Please. _Please_ , Skye. Just come with me. That beach house in Catcun. Or... or that little cottage just outside Bearlin...”

“I will. Someday. But I'm not gonna promise myself to someone who doesn't know who he is anymore. Someone who _I_ don't know yet,” I murmur, kissing the side of his cheek. “You need time to figure things out Jack. Learn to settle things before you settle down. Just stop being the angry Agent for once and learn how to be a bunny.”

“Skye...” he whispers.

I can feel the heat blooming in him, that ache to feel alive again. After every successful mission we'd always cap things off with a toss in the sheets. He's too shy to make the first move with me in my condition, but it's not like I don't want it. I can still feel things down there, after all.

So it's up to me.

I reach between his legs with a smile, eager to show that we still connect. That he'll always be a part of my life in the most intimate ways. It's always been complicated between us, but we've always been fast and fluid with our bodies, and slow to parse out our feelings for one another. Yet there's something exciting about this too, the fresh new awkwardness of the moment. Like Jack's a virgin again.

He's panting into my ear, and his paw's slipping down to return the favor. So nervous. So coy... I kinda like it, these new exploratory touches. Like the both of us are figuring out the new limits of my body. The smell of his arousal is sweet and milky, mine sharp yet soft. When they mingle it's like the taste of peaches and cream... or strawberries and champagne. It's like we're made for each other.

But then he tenses.

“Jack?” I say, leaning back in the chair.

His pupils have shrunk back, and his eyes are sharp with panic. His nose is twitching violently, and with a shiver he yanks his paw out from between my legs.

“Jack, what's wrong?”

His throat bobs in a heavy swallow as he stares at his trembling fingers, and he scoots off of my lap so quickly he nearly falls on his tail.

“Jack... please, it's okay!” I insist. “You weren't hurting me. You were-”

“I- I'm sorry...” he says as he backs away from me. He looks so _terrified_. “Please, it's not you, Skye. It's... I- I need to go...”

With that he dashes down towards the door, grabs his jacket, and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

For a moment I sit there staring at the door, stunned by the sudden about-face. But once I gather myself I take out my cellphone and dial up Seraphine. Whatever's going on, she needs to know about this.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jack Savage** _

 

I'd tried to block it out. Focus on the mission. Yet every waking moment I had to fight off the memories threatening to well up again.

There was the cold chill that ate through my fur, soaked in salt water as I was. It'd bled through my skin and burrowed into my flesh, settling into my bones. Yet if I'd thought the cold would numb me for what was to come, I was sorely mistaken.

There were the alligator clips biting down onto my ears, the wires dangling down my back to a controller that the Smiler held in his paws. The wire muzzle held a pawkerchief against my face, soaked with the musk of a vixen's heat. Despite the situation I found myself in, I felt a stirring in my loins from that scent. A scent that I'd always linked to my beautiful, sweet fox.

“ _Scent is quite tightly connected to memory, you know..._ ” Sebastian Dusk grinned. “ _Pleasant ones especially. The smell of a mother's pillow brings up warm, comforting nostalgia. The smell of old piss would immediately conjure the fear of dim alleys in run-down neighborhoods. The true challenge in my craft is rewiring those connections... dissociating scents from their old memories, and reattaching them to new experiences._ ”

No, please no...

He gave the patch of cloth over my nose a playful poke, smiling down at me. His teeth were needle-sharp, his gums blood-red. That and his laughing blue eyes were the only bits of color on a face otherwise white as death. “ _Now... it's time for Jack Savage to die, and for the Tiger Lily to be reborn._ ”

I wish I could say I'd toughed it out. That I'd been brave and resilient the whole time. But the smell of a vixen's musk was a constant reminder of Skye. That cheeky, vibrant vixen... the last I saw of her by that point was of her lying in that hospital bed, with all those tubes and wires in her. It'd left me open. It'd made me _vulnerable_.

And then the pain began.

There's no way to describe what it felt like to someone who wasn't there. It wasn't just the electricity crackling between my ears and along my skull. It was the way I'd been hung from my wrists with my ankles chained to the floor. It was the involuntary thrashing and kicking that sent spears of pain through my arms, the strain cresting with each spasm to the point that my shoulders nearly tore from their sockets. It was the taste of the gag, the feel of old bite marks in the latex left by other mammals who'd been in my position. Mammals who were now likely long dead and dissolved in acid.

And then he'd blindfolded me, so I wouldn't be able to see when and where he'd press the jumper cables into my body. The pain came at random intervals, each jolt like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.

At one point Sebastian Dusk slid a plastic bag over my head and tied it tight around my neck, asphyxiating me as the electricity crackled through my body. My lungs were screaming for oxygen even as I howled my breath away. Only when I blacked out would he pull it off, and when I gulped down air in my desperate thirst I was drinking in the scent of a vixen's heat.

It was the smell of long, sweet nights in Skye's arms. It was the smell of terror and pain and a fanged smile that would haunt my dreams in the long weeks to follow.

Her scent... would it be like this forever now? Would the smell of her trigger me like that every time we tried to make love?

But for the moment, I put that out of my mind. I straighten my tie, adjust my jacket, and head down the corridor.

There's an inside joke among us Agents, that we call the plain concrete hallway to Seraphine's office the Gray Mile. When you're called up to see her you seem to be taking way more steps than you need to get there. The two Agents flanking me as an escort aren't the kindly guards from the movie, and I'm no magical simpleton, but somehow the name fits.

Yet it doesn't seem so funny right now.

She's sitting at her desk looking over a dossier. A cup of tea is sitting next to her paw, and there's a bit of a glow about her as she takes it and takes a sip, like she's in a good mood. Yet her eyes narrow when she peers at me over the rim.

“Jack,” she greets me coolly.

“Director Seraphine,” I say, climbing up onto the chair to face her.

“So. The latest intel I received appears to be encouraging,” she says. “With broad international support from foreign governments, the Vulpes Sanguinis has been uprooted. Their royal bloodline has, as far as anyone can tell, been extinguished. Every base that Jacob Frisk divulged has been raided, and at least two hundred bunnies have been rescued. They're being transported to Bunnyburrow to begin new lives right now.”

“You don't seem very pleased.”

“I'm pleased with these results. I am very displeased with _you_ , Agent Savage.”

“I won't deny my missteps with the assault on the Cathedral,” I admit. As much as I want to meet her icy gaze, I have difficulty raising my eyes beneath the force of her stare.

“A review board is looking at the incident right now. But so far the attitude seems to be that it was unavoidable. Hell, even I might've made the same mistake. No, I'm talking about something much more serious,” her tone sharpens at that, “Your vendetta-driven crusade against the Sanguinis. Your stint of going rogue...”

“My motives aside, I did what I had to,” I insist, “And I chose not to risk any more of my fellow ZIA.”

“No. Instead you let two ZPD officers tag along,” Seraphine sniffs, “There will be no 'my motives aside' when you sit down with me, Jack. Against my better judgment, I let things slide when you set up an unauthorized surveillance system on Nicholas Wilde. And this was _only_ because you claimed that he was a Frisk.”

“And I told you the truth. He _is_ a Frisk.”

“And yet you conveniently left out the fact that he was the son of Jacob Frisk,” her mouth twists into a rare display of anger, revealing rows of pearl-white fangs. “The son of the fox who killed your mother.”

I continue to stare silently at my paws.

“This was never about stopping the Vulpes Sanguinis,” she says in a tone that could crack a glacier. “This was about vengeance. You wanted to murder the son of your sworn enemy, in retribution for what he did twenty years ago. And in doing so you've hounded an innocent mammal for _months_.”

“ _He's not innocent!_ ” I snap, hopping up to stand on my chair, stabbing a finger into her desk. “Wilde _was_ consorting with the Sanguinis! He even planned out how to avoid surveillance with a body double! I acted on the best intelligence I had, and all my information said that Wilde was a _criminal_ and a _terrorist_!”

If Seraphine's surprised by my sudden outburst, she doesn't show it.

“Don't lie to me, Jack,” she sniffs, leaning back and taking a sip of her tea. “Not to me. Not in my own office. If your motives were so above-board you wouldn't have hidden his true heritage from me.”

“If I told you who he was you would've pulled me from the task force.”

“As I should've. And your actions throughout this whole debacle do you no favors in changing my mind on that. You've wasted ZIA resources. Tortured Wilde physically and emotionally to satisfy your little vendetta. Tell me, who else knew he was the son of Jacob Frisk?”

“Miles and Lenny. No one else.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” she muses as she sets her cup down. “Elkredge hiding that little detail from me would only be a molehill next to the mountain of crimes he's committed. And while it would be natural for Packard to know about the DNA results, he knows nothing of your history with Jacob Frisk, so he could hardly be blamed for not bringing this detail to my attention. Are you _certain_ no one else knew?”

“No one.”

“Are you sure Agent Skye didn't know?” she presses. “Are you trying to _protect_ her?”

“I'm... quite certain...” I gulp.

Seraphine sniffs, “Very well. After all she's been through I don't care about disciplining her for concealing such intel. Pity about Elkredge though... apparently, he died just last night.”

I sit up straighter, my eyes grow wide. “What? How? Don't tell me it was suicide?”

“The coroner suspects he'd been hiding a case of severe, chronic emphysema,” Seraphine says, leaning in close. “Of course, no one could claim that Miles took care of himself.”

“I'm sorry,” I offer. Miles had, after all, been Seraphine's partner once, back in the day. I'm sure the two of them had been close.

She stares at me for a good, long moment. Those cold blue eyes are stern and piercing, like she's gazing deep into my soul.

“I've been working in intelligence and espionage for nearly forty years, Jack,” Seraphine finally says. “You think I don't recognize ricin poisoning? The rest of the bureau may be eager to bury a traitor who tarnished our name even worse than the botched attack on the Cathedral did, but I'm not.”

The moment of silence I offer drags on, though it isn't out of respect for Miles' memory that I remain silent.

“I hope it was painful.”

“Excruciating.” Though Seraphine has her paws folded in front of her, I can hear her knuckles creaking as her fingers tighten. “When the poison finally took effect it was about six hours before he finally succumbed. He was wheezing for breath the whole time. How did you administer it, exactly? His food? His drink?”

“One of his cigarettes,” I admit. I can only hope she appreciates the irony, at least a little.

“Who else did you plan to kill?”

“I had considered Nicholas Wilde,” I shrug.

“Even after he was proven innocent?”

“None of us are innocent, Seraphine. But it would've been _right_ ,” I confess. If Seraphine's caught me red-pawed, I might as well lay it all out. “Jacob Frisk needed to feel what it was like to lose family. To see someone he loved _die_.”

“As for Jacob himself?”

“Half an inch from death,” I say, indicating the distance with my thumb and index finger. “Literally. He almost had the cup to his mouth when I stopped him.”

She stares at me suspiciously. “And why _did_ you? Stop him, that is.”

“Because...” I mull over it for a moment. “Me, killing him... that's what he _wanted_.”

Seraphine shakes her head in disgust. “ _Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft..._ ” she mutters under her breath.

It's not hard to recognize the quote she's drawing from. “ _Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._ ”

Nietzsche, ladies and gents. The last refuge of wannabes and cunts.

“That doesn't apply to me.”

“You think it doesn't?!” Seraphine snaps, her famed composure finally breaking. “You've murdered Elkredge! A traitor yes, but he was still a veteran of the ZIA! Do you expect to keep your job after this? Or even to remain _breathing_ right now? _One word_ from me, and you would vanish completely. No one would even be able to find your _body_.”

My fingers ball up into fists. Did Seraphine think it'd been _easy_ doing that? Elkredge had been my partner about as long as he'd been Seraphine's. He'd been my friend. One of the two mammals who'd rescued me. Elkredge had been the closest thing I had to a father, albeit an emotionally distant one.

But he'd betrayed my trust. He'd let me get captured. Let me get _tortured_ by the fucking Smiler. And all this time he saw me as a liability. As someone who'd gone off the deep end, _just_ the same way that Seraphine is judging me now.

“I became a monster _long_ before I became an Agent,” I growl, slamming my fist on the table. Seraphine doesn't react. She never does. This fucking ice queen had always exercised soft power through her emotional restraint, but I'm _done_ with this bitch's passive-aggressive shit.

“Watching my mother's execution. Being dumped onto a foster parent who didn't know how to deal with me. The years of planning my revenge against Frisk. And you _knew_ it,” I say, stabbing a finger towards her, “You _KNEW_ what I was this whole fucking time. _THAT'S_ why you made me an Agent. _THAT'S_ why you had me lead this task force. You wanted to use me precisely _BECAUSE_ I'm a monster, and you needed one to hunt down others!”

“I did everything I could to dissuade you from this career, Jack,” she says sternly. “Ever since you were a kit.”

“You did everything except say 'no.' So don't give me your self-righteous bullshit, Seraphine! Unlike Elkredge, I'll take responsibility for what I've done, but you don't get to play the innocent either! So do with me what you will. Fire me. Put a bullet in my skull. I've finished what I needed to do. What you _MADE_ me to do.”

My chest is heaving, and I feel dizzy, almost giddy at finally laying it into her. How many times had I imagined giving her this speech? How many times had I practiced this argument to myself, muttering under my breath like some schizo?

But Seraphine's expression is placid as always, smooth and undisturbed like a winter pond.

I feel so _light_ inside, but there's this fluttery tension in my chest, too. Standing back, feeling a bit dizzy, I straighten my jacket.

“So...” I say in a calmer tone. “Will I get some notice? What'll it be? Some car accident you'll no doubt arrange? Something you'll have slipped in my morning coffee? Or are you just gonna shoot me in the head once we're done with this conversation?”

Frankly, I'm expecting the latter. Any minute now she'll reach beneath her desk and pull out her service weapon...

“I'm not going to kill you, Jack...” she sighs. “God knows I want to, and you've certainly earned it. But I'm not going to order the execution of the bunny I took in so long ago.”

I blink, staring at her in shock. It isn't like her to get sentimental.

“The fact is, Jack... we've lost a lot of good Agents in the Twilight Cathedral bombing and the Catsro Square attack. The ZIA and ZPD need new blood. We need someone to be the face of our agencies... _especially_ with the stain on the ZIA that Elkredge has left behind. We need someone whose reputation, checkered as it is from within the ranks, will nonetheless embolden new recruits for years to come.

“You, Hopps, Kaplan, and yes... even Wilde will be receiving commendations for your supposed heroics.” Seraphine's eyes narrow. “But I am stripping your security clearance. You will turn in all your weapons and ZIA-issued gear, reveal the locations of your safehouses within the City. Your days as an Agent are _over_.”

“Y-yes...” I gulp. This... actually isn't what I expected, coming in here. The Gray Mile... the long road to my execution. After everything I'd done, it seemed inevitable. I'd mentally prepared myself for it. Now that I'm being offered clemency, the future is so open and unsure and... _frightening_.

“And another thing... I have discussed the matter with Mayor Lionheart and Chief Bogo, and the official story will be that Nicholas Wilde has been working as a deep undercover operative this whole time. This is necessary to begin the healing process between us all. So after all the pain you've caused the poor tod, you will _bury_ this vendetta you have against Nicholas Wilde. And if something unfortunate _should_ happen to befall him, it won't be _your_ tail who suffers for it. After all, the resources to help fund Skye's recovery are in my paws.”

I nod quickly, eager to agree. “Yes. Yes, Director. Thank you very much.”

A smile breaks on her face then, and Seraphine begins to chuckle. It breaks out into a laugh, warm and derisive. It's absolutely terrifying, watching this normally frosty snow leopard thaw and seeing what lies beneath. All of a sudden the open uncertainty about my future seems like a chasm yawning before me, and I feel like I might just be swallowed up.

“Oh don't _thank_ me, Jack,” she says with an amused purr. “I'm throwing you into _public relations_! At some point you may just _beg_ me for that bullet in your skull.”

Seraphine offers a fanged smile as she gathers herself. Her eyes are dripping with pity as she looks down at me.

“After all, a bullet can only kill you _once_.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

Nick sure is quiet.

It'd taken a few days for the paperwork to go through. In the meantime I've been visiting him as much as I could at Highwatch. It was hard, only being able to talk to him with this plexiglass barrier between us, but after all we've been through we needed to keep our spirits up together.

“ _Nick?_ ” I'd asked him on my third visit. He'd seemed so uncomfortable sitting there, and he couldn't quite meet my eyes, “ _Are you okay with me visiting? Because it kinda feels like... you don't want me seeing you like this._ ”

He had, after all, made his opinions on prison orange quite clear.

“ _No, no, it's not that... it's just... y'know. The other inmates. They talk. About... uh... you._ ”

“ _Nothing_ _ **too**_ _uncomplimentary, I hope._ ”

“ _Yeah it's the opposite. They're_ _ **very**_ _complimentary is the problem._ ”

Despite the situation, we'd shared a giggle at that.

But now I'm driving us back to the City in the squad car I'd borrowed from the Precinct. He's in his street clothes again... Pawaiian shirt, purple tie, brown slacks. But he seems so _different_ now. Maybe it's because his winter fur is beginning to come in, or that he hadn't gotten the opportunity to really groom himself. Or...

No. I have to be honest with myself here. He's been quiet ever since he stepped out a free fox, and even though Nick squeezed me back when I hugged him it didn't feel like it was _him_. It was more like a fox-shaped mannequin holding me.

I glance at him as we zoom down the road. While it's good to see Nick finally back in his usual outfit, he's just staring out the window. It's like he's in a trace as he watches the sun set, lighting the sky in fading orange and gold. Night sure is coming early at this time of year.

This whole time he hasn't said a word. Hasn't made a single joke.

“So...” I say in an attempt to break the ice. “The holidays are just around the corner, and I was thinking maybe we could go back to Bunnyburrow to visit? Like... we'd planned?”

Of course, _that_ discussion had occurred before this whole debacle. Seems ridiculous to think he'd still be interested in sticking to plans that he'd probably long forgotten after everything he'd been through.

“Hmm?” Nick glances back at me. “Oh. That could be nice... I guess.”

“Though, I mean- if you wanna stay in the City we could do that too. I had a really fun time last year.”

It seems like a whole age ago, when Nick took me around Zootopia for the whole autumn-to-winter holiday lineup. We'd missed Howloween this year, but there was always Thanksgiving and Christmas. I still remember the smell of freshly baked pumpkin bread and maple sugar candies, peppermint lattes and gingerbread and sugar cookies. At the time we still hadn't become official in our relationship, but there was this definite chemistry that was just beginning to bloom.

I could only hope that this holiday season would be as kind to us.

“Yeah...” Nick murmurs, his eyes downcast. “Zootopia sure is nice during the holidays.”

Leaning over, I take his paw in mine. It's another fifteen minutes before we reach the edge of Zootopia proper. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize who I am.

“So...” Nick's voice is so soft, like the brush of a drifting feather. “Everything's back to normal, huh? We all just go on with our lives?”

“Well...” I gulp.

Why am I hesitating? How hard is it to say ' _Yes, Nick. Everything will be fine. After some administrative leave that conveniently overlaps with the holiday season, we'll get back to our lives like normal?_ '

“I'm... _trying_ , Nick...” I murmur. “I'm trying my best to process this so we can get back to normal.”

“Doesn't seem fair, does it? We get to go back to our lives, and thirty-two mammals don't get to go back to theirs?”

My spine stiffens at that.

“Nick... what happened in the Twilight Cathedral... you didn't know about it,” I say, giving his paw a squeeze. “It's not your fault.”

“I _should've_ known about it, Carrots. And it _is_ my fault. I knew that someone was working for the Sanguinis on the inside,” he says bitterly. “But I tried getting the word out to the ZIA anyway, all because... because I couldn't stand the thought of you losing faith in me. Thirty-two mammals are dead because I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut!”

He spasms and grips the dashboard when I pull the car over to the shoulder.

I turn off the engine and unbuckle my seat belt, but Nick tenses when I turn to him and cup his face in my paws. His big green eyes are so bright and so sad. His usual snark, his cheeky attitude, his constant need to joke or screw with others for laughs... it'd always been his way of hiding his pain, hadn't it? Once I learned how much he'd actually had to deal with in his life, I'd begun to wonder what he was keeping behind that smug little grin. It worried me. And it scared me.

But now Nick's taken the mask off. Or he just doesn't have the energy to keep wearing it anymore. And what I'm seeing now...

“Nick, _please_ listen to me. No one blames you for what happened.”

“Really?” Nick huffs. “Did you go to the memorial services? Did you ask all those friends and family members what they thought? How many attended, Judy? A few hundred? A _thousand_?”

I shake my head. “Nick, everyone knows it was Elkredge who was responsible. _He_ was the one who betrayed the task force.”

But Nick just continues as if I'd said nothing.

“I couldn't attend it of course. Not when I was in prison,” Nick says, with the rote smoothness of someone who's repeated this very thought to himself a dozen times over already. How can he stay so composed right now? Why is it _I'm_ the one who's trying to fight back the tears? “I'm not even sure I would've belonged at the memorial. I- I don't think I even belong in the uniform. That I _ever_ belonged.”

“Nick- Nick, stop it...” I run my fingers along his cheek. “Please. You can talk to Dr. Conall after you have time to settle back in. I mean... what you're feeling now? You know he calls it Imposter Syndrome, right? You keep thinking you don't deserve all the recognition you've earned for all the good things you've done. You have all this self-doubt because you can't see yourself the way everyone else does. The way _I_ do.”

“And how did you see me when you and Agent Savage arrested me?”

It feels like an icicle stabbing me through the heart when he says that.

“N-Nick... Nick, I'm _sorry_ I didn't trust you then, it's just-”

“Wh- no! That's... that's not what I meant...” his arms wrap around me and he squeezes me tight, as if suddenly _I'm_ the one who needs to be comforted now. “No... you had _every_ right to not trust me then. I'm not blaming you for that. I'm just saying... maybe...”

He gulps. “Carrots... the fact is, even though I was scared to death the whole time... lying the way I did. Tricking Savage and keeping all these hustles running. But... it felt _natural_ , y'know? Even though I ditched the con artist life and earned the badge, I- I never really changed. Not inside. And I don't think I can help it. We need to face the facts here, and it's that- well... trusting me is always gonna be an uphill battle. And... you and me... I don't think...”

“No. _No_ , Nick. You shut up. You shut up right now!” I snap, giving him a firm shake. His eyes widen at my reaction. “You wanna know how much people _distrust_ you? You wanna know how much people _hate_ you for what you were forced to do? I'm not just taking you home right now, Nick! Back at the precinct everyone's been preparing a surprise party to welcome you back! And I mean _everyone!_ It started with Clawhauser, but everyone jumped on board right away once he sent out the invites! The Officers on the task force, Benjy and Danny and Luke. Agent Savage and Agent Skye... the District Attorney, the _Mayor_! Even your mom is attending! Because what you did led to the arrest of forty-two criminals and you freed _dozens_ of bunnies!

“I'm not gonna pretend this is gonna be _easy_ , Nick. And I know you need time to really make sense of the last three months, because I sure do! But if you think you'll never be anymore more than a lying fox you have a whole department _full_ of friends who'll tell you you're _wrong_!”

It's infuriating, the way he just sits there unable to look at me. I'm crying now, and I'm drying my tears on his shirt. In the glove compartment I still have his red pawkerchief from when he was a kit, that little memento he'd kept when he'd hoped to join the Junior Ranger Scouts.

Brave. Loyal. Helpful. Trustworthy. The oath of a Junior Ranger Scout.

Why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't he see that it all fit him so _perfectly_?

“You really love me, don't you?” he murmurs.

“Yeah...” I sniffle. “And I'm not the only one. Isn't that enough Nick? Can't that _be_ enough?”

But for a long while, he says nothing in response.

“I... I'll need some time,” is the best he can manage.

By the time we arrive at the ZPD the sun's completely set, and the glow of the City is painting the inky night sky in bright neon hues. For a while Nick can only stare at the exterior, like he's trying to recognize an old home in the columns of sandstone interspersed with glass windows.

“Hey Carrots...” he says with a little half-smile. A smile that I've come to recognize all too well as dressing for the box he's locked his true feelings in. “How about we blow this popsicle stand? Just... go elsewhere?”

“We can't do that...” I sniffle, “You know how long everyone's been looking forward to this?”

“Yeah...” he sighs. “After everything they've been through, they deserve to be happy for once.”

“So do you, Nick...” I murmur. “So do you.”

He looks down at me, and reaches out with a paw to stroke my ears. Why does it feel like he's saying goodbye? Why does it _hurt_ so much to see that smile of his?

But Nick just takes a deep breath, adjusts his tie, and unbuckles his seat belt. “Come on... let's not keep them waiting.”

It feels like I'm walking through a dream when we both head in together. There's the whipping sound of a banner unfurling, party poppers spraying confetti into the air. Dozens of mammals shouting “surprise!” as they break out the party hats and bring out the cake. Carrot-ginger cake with blueberry filling, which earns a bunch of suggestive winks and nudges as the other Officers take in the two of us together.

It didn't take long for them to pick up on the vibe that Nick was only feigning shock. Not that anyone was mad, of course.

“Aww, Hopps! You told him, didn't you?”

“N'aww, you know she can't keep a secret!”

“Dude!”

“What? I'm sayin' she's just honest!”

It isn't fair, that Nick can just smile like that. Pretend that nothing's wrong. Everyone's too excited to finally be able to have some fun after a long, painful few months to notice. Benjy's fresh from the hospital, still looking a little tired, but Luke and Danny are helping him take things in small doses. Skye gives me a hug from her wheelchair, while Jack shakes my paw and gives me a cool, unsmiling nod. The Mayor and District Attorney Vash pull me and Nick aside for a few photos. Nick's mom takes my paw, thanking me warmly for protecting her son this whole time.

No one else picks up on the real mood between me and Nick, and even when I scrub away the tears I laugh. I smile. I try to put on a good face like Nick is doing. And everyone else buys it, giving me little nudges and chuckling as I struggle not to cry.

“Heh. You bunnies are so _emotional_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author commentary: Spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> A lot of the imagery I got here from Skye reminiscing about the tropics came from my experiences whilst on vacation. The sights and sounds and smells are just so bright and alluring.
> 
> I should note here that I didn't mean for Jack to sound like he's trying to run away from the fact that he killed Elkredge. I don't see him as a coward who's afraid of facing the consequences of his misdeeds. It's just that here Jack is feeling so completely lost after all he's been through that he's trying to put it all behind him, and his attempts of how to do so are kinda clumsy. The guy is just trying to re-ground himself by jumping into the next available adventure: marriage, and a vacation away from the city that'd caused him so much suffering.
> 
> It was also nice to finally get Seraphine to seriously lay into Jack for all the shit he's tried to pull these last three months. It's a good dose of honesty that lays bare both their motivations for why they did what they did. And this probably *is* the best way to punish Jack... by robbing him of the chance to have the high-flying adventures he's lived on for so long, clipping his wings, and sticking him in a cubicle where he has to live a life of drudgery as the public face of an organization. I was probably inspired by the soul-crushing impact I thought I saw in Sean Spicer's job and how it affected him.
> 
> We're on a push to the finish. Please expect another chapter tomorrow morning, and the final chapter the day after. I'm about halfway done with chapter 55, I just need to finish it and run it past my beta readers.


	54. Final Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and the morning after, Jacob explores the prison yard, Conall gets an unexpected guest.
> 
> (Part 2 of the push to the end! Go back and check chapter 53 if you've missed it!)

_**Danny Kaplan** _

 

I run my fingers over the striped cheek in front of me. Even though there's this _weight_ to his presence, his face is innocent as a cub's when he's asleep. So soft and gentle. Even it's just a post-coital catnap.

There's this deep ache in my nuts, drained dry as they are. My tailhole is feeling a bit raw with how thoughly I'd been bred the previous night. But there's a delicious satisfaction to the pain, a lingering reminder of what we'd done to earn it. Like the soreness after a long workout, or the bone-deep exhaustion after a thrilling performance onstage.

My paw squeezes his arm, admiring the thick cords of muscle beneath even as I lament the scars half-hidden by his fur. His gashes had healed, and his stitches had just come out, but I was still so careful when we started to make love last night. The nip had helped loosen our inhibitions though, and as the mattress creaked louder and louder beneath our thrusts, we fucked with a vigor worthy of our last nigh together.

I drank in each breath, savored each long suck, basked in each deep kiss like I was starving for sensation. I was high as a kite, and time was moving at such a slow crawl that I could really savor each glorious moment. There was a passion and familiarity that I'd never experience with another mammal. Even after we came together for the first time, the afterglow hung like a savory richness in the air that left us salivating for more.

I scoot closer, enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off my brother's naked body. When I press my mouth to his, I can still taste and smell traces of my seed on his muzzle. And I'm sure he can taste his seed on mine.

His nostrils flare, and Benjy's breath tickles my face. He lets me pull away with a wet smack, and his mouth curls into a smile even though his eyes are still closed.

“There. Satisfied?”

“Yeah. It was wonderful,” I sigh. “Thanks for giving me this last time together.”

“How was it?”

“Best I've ever had. By far.”

“Liar,” he chuckles.

“I'm serious!” I insist. “Out of the dozens of guys I've slept with you're the best, Benjy. _Especially_ last night.”

“Oh that makes me feel _so_ much more comfortable about having put my dick in you,” he laughs, finally opening his eyes. “Still, probably helped that I wasn't drunk for once.”

“Sobriety is overrated, but... it was nice smelling just the anise seed and nip on your breath this time,” I reach down and give his ass a firm squeeze. My fingers trail down along the base of his tail and tickle at the slickness that still remained down there. “Hey bro... don't tell me it was your first time doing it here?”

“Pffft. What do you think? You and Luke are just about the only males I've been with.”

“Oh my God, you were a butt-virgin?” I say in a mocking gasp.

“Say 'butt-virgin' one more time and I am leaving this bed right now,” he snorts. Rolling onto his back Benjy sighs, scrubbing a big paw over his head. “Besides, I did promise you _everything_.”

“Yeah,” I smirk. “Yeah you did. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No... you were perfectly gentle.”

Benjy sighs then, wrapping a big, burly arm around me. He's lost some muscle mass due to his stint in the hospital, but a few weeks at the gym plus enough soy protein and carbs and he'll be back to his burly old self.

“So, Danny. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah... I mean, I'm not the first mammal to suffer from _weltschmerz_. And I'm not gonna be the last. But I think I can manage from here on out.”

“ _Velt_... what?”

“Just something Donna said. At Giraffa's.”

Benjy snorts. “It's weird how well-read she is.”

“Right?” I chuckle.

Benjy sighs then, and pulls his arm away. Scooting off of the bed, he does the usual morning-after routine of looking around the base of the bed for his clothes.

“Aww, can't we cuddle for a few more minutes?” I whine.

“We've been cuddling all night. If I stay any longer I might not want to leave.”

“Eugh, don't say that. It's super tempting and saying goodbye is hard enough as it is.”

“Sorry,” Benjy chuckles.

I sit up in bed and watch as he gets dressed. This really will be the last time I see his gorgeous body this way, huh? I mean, it's not like we won't be hanging out on weekends or anything. It's just that he's already found an apartment of his own on the other end of the district, and Khan will be moving in to his old room once Benjy finishes the process of moving all his stuff out by the end of the week. And apparently, he's got a date with one of the Officers from the precinct. One Katya Furlong I hear, freshly rescued from that underground complex she'd been trapped in. Apparently he's gonna woo her with his cooking. A selfish little part of me, however, hopes she'll be put off by his habit of leaving dirty laundry everywhere and the unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Benjy?” I call after him as he's just about to leave. He's wearing his tight black t-shirt and his scruffy jeans, and it's kinda thrilling, the fact that I know the shape of his body hidden beneath the tight cotton. He's got one paw on the door frame, and he glances back at me over his shoulder.

' _I love you_ ,' I wanna say. From our last life to this one, from this life to the next. From the tragic moment we were split in the womb, to the tender nights we spent trying to twine together once again. On this side of the threshold and the other side of the sky, from the bottom of the deepest sea to the peak of the highest mountain...

I love you.

But instead I smile, chuckling to myself. It's a whole new world we'll be entering now.

“See you later, big bro.”

“Yeah...” he grins. “See you later.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Jacob Cornelius Frisk** _

 

So. This is my life now. Highwatch Prison... a massive concrete edifice housing the dregs of Zootopia, and those who just fell between the cracks of the world. Or both.

All my life I'd wanted to do the right thing, be the best fox I could in a world that distrusted and despised us. And that was before I had Nick. The day he was born and I held this sniffley little kit in my arms, I knew that setting the right example for him was more important than ever. I'd be the best dad I could to him.

When I was first moved here from ZIA detention I'd expected I would break down crying. After all, despite my best intentions, despite wanting to do the best for my son, my being here was just another cruel twist of fate. But it actually wasn't so bad, being moved to Highwatch. In truth I was just trading one prison for another. And at least in Highwatch, there were others in my situation. And I could look forward to getting out eventually.

Would I get that chance, though? Tarquin had thought he'd done me a favor by getting me placed with the general population instead of locked up in the high-security cells. Me being alive, a known criminal now, might put Nick in danger if anyone realized I'm his father. I'd considered measures against this... and I'd muttered a prayer and hoped that Nick and Tarquin would forgive me if it ever came down to it. A few damp rags, taking apart one of the overhead lamps... a quick zap and it'd be over.

For now though I'm walking through the prison yard, trying to keep a low profile. Good thing about prison is that mammals know to keep to themselves, and most everyone averts their eyes when I pass. Hopefully I'm too old to be accosted by any of the bigger inmates, but you never know. I'd wanted to put my past behind me... no more violence. No more Praetor combat techniques. But if I was put in a dangerous position I'm not sure I could suppress the urge to defend myself.

My ears perk up when I hear a familiar voice across the yard.

“Hey, whaddya call a three-humped camel?”

No.

No no _no_! He's not supposed to be here! He was supposed to have been _released_ by now!

I rush over towards the sound of his voice, shoving aside a familiar-looking weasel who lets out an indignant squawk. A rhino about to start a set of bench presses glances at me, a red panda snarls as he has to jump aside. I might have to pay for that later, but I'm too blinded by panic to care.

There, standing up on one of the tables is a fox. He's wearing a green tie with his orange jumpsuit, and he spreads his arms out as he delivers the punchline.

“...Pregnant!”

The small crowd of inmates breaks out in laughter, slapping their thighs and howling. Even one of the guards overseeing us from the nearby tower smirks and shakes his head as he leans against the railing.

For a moment my heart feels like it's stopped, when I realize that the fox I'm looking at is younger than Nick. His eyes are blue rather than green, and his fur is a shade lighter. The resemblance is uncanny otherwise, and even his voice is almost a perfect match. Until, that is, he speaks again.

“Thank you! Thank you, ladies and gents!” he says in his musical lisp.

“ _You're_ the only lady here, Chester!”

“Only in the back of the shed, Mikey! You should know that by now!” Chester shouts back, wiggling his tail. That earns him another wave of laughter.

“Now, let's try a bit, shall we! Gimme... oooh, a person. A mode of transport. And how about... a food item? Okay, person! Go!”

A dozen paws shoot up from the crowd.

I can only stare in shock at the scene, when two large figures flank me.

By pure instinct my paw shoots up to reach into my coat for a weapon, only to realize that I'm unarmed and wearing this awful orange jumpsuit. When I turn to face the mammals about to accost me however, I look up to see two very familiar wolves.

“Uh... hey, you must be Mr. Frisk?” the white wolf says. He gestures with his thumb at the gray wolf beside me. “I'm Gary, this is Larry. You hired us to help keep an eye on your son, right?”

I'm still on-edge, looking up at these two. True, I'd paid them to protect Nicholas, but I still couldn't be sure what their intentions were towards me.

“Hey, don't worry. Nick told us before he left that we should do the same favor for you,” Larry says. “I mean, not like he could pay us or anything, but we figure we'd do you guys a favor. Wilde's a pretty great guy, y'know?”

“I'm... glad to hear it,” I say, straightening and smoothing my clothes. Seems ridiculous to want to look my best in this situation, but it wouldn't hurt. “Thank you. I'd appreciate any help you can provide.”

“Hey it's no problem, boss,” Gary says with a toothy grin.

“Gotta be straight with you here,” Larry adds, “but we're getting out in about six weeks. But the whole time we're here together, we'll help you adjust, get acquainted with the regulars. Who to hang with, who to avoid. All the little unspoken rules about being Inside. But you'll learn to take care of yourself just fine, I think.”

Gary nods towards the fox on the table. Chester is doing some absurd routine involving the Warden, a Penny Farthing, and a tuna casserole. As he takes a pratfall and nearly tumbles off the edge of the table to the riotous laughter of the crowd, Chester notices me. He's lying on his back, but his muzzle curves into a coy smile as he shoots me a wink.

“Looks just like him, doesn't he?” Gary says with a grin towards me. “Guess the world's just _full_ of Nick Wilde lookalikes. Or foxes just all look kinda the same to others.”

“Not very PC,” Larry sniffs. “Probably easier to say that Nick Wilde resembles a lot of other, totally unrelated foxes. Ain't that right, Mr. Frisk?”

The both of them share a knowing glance with me.

I can only stand there in a bit of a daze, but when the realization sets in a smile spreads across my face.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Isaac Mohegan Conall** _

 

Such a long day.

If the survivors of the attack in Catsro Square had taxed my schedule, then the dozens of mammals who'd just been rescued from the Twilight Cathedral have almost robbed me completely of my spare time. I've had to trim down my session lengths further from forty minutes per patient to thirty. Thankfully most of their cases are straightforward: post-traumatic stress, newly developed claustrophobia and nyctophobia. But the note taking and documentation for each patient afterward has remained the same. It was well past nine o'clock by the time I was finally able to leave my office.

Perhaps I will have to acquiesce and relax my standards a little. Group therapy makes it harder to track and cater to the individual needs of each patient, but at least it will help me cope with the sheer volume. Individual sessions can be reserved for the more severe cases.

Like Officer Grigory Ursowitz, who'd had no one to help check on his pet iguana while he was trapped in the Cathedral. The thing had died a slow, painful death of starvation all while Ursowitz' panic and guilt grew. He could only sit there in the dark, unable to do anything. Or Patricia Timberwaul, whose fiancee had taken her absence as an opportunity to sleep with another she-wolf. They were due to be married in two months.

I sigh as I step into my apartment, setting down my briefcase and hanging up my coat. It's quite soothing, coming back home to the scents of old pleather and the woody aroma reminiscent of a wine cork. I really could use a cup of Earl Grey about now. And perhaps a middleberry scone. While I had dinner at my desk tonight, a proper meal should also be a time to relax.

In the kitchen I take out a kettle and put some water on to boil. Just as I turn on the burner however, I hear the click of a gun behind me.

“Don't move, Conall.”

Standing stock-still with my fingers still on the knob, I slowly turn my head. Just enough so I can see him from the corner of my vision as he slips out of his hiding spot in my cupboard.

“Agent Savage...” I say with my usual clinical calm. “This is quite unconventional.”

“I'm an unconventional mammal,” he says, keeping he gun aimed right at my head. “And so are you.”

For a long while I can only stare at him. His eyes are dewy and uncertain. He holds himself stiffly, but in a way that makes it seem as if he's hiding his own weakness. It's a habit of prey mammals, especially rabbits, to seem much more in control than they really are when they're in pain. Is he still recovering from his injuries? Or is it something deeper? Something psychological?

No, that isn't the most unusual thing about him right now.

“How is it that I was unable to smell you when I first came in?” my nose twitches. “Indeed, I can barely smell you now.”

“You're a clever wolf. You tell me.”

“The Praetor scent mask...” I realize, “Ah. When you arrested Wilde, you must've confiscated it. I presume you've stolen it and from the evidence locker, and taken a few doses before you came here. Is it some sort of exocrine blocker? Fascinating.”

“Cut the crap, Conall. I want answers.”

“I will elect to offer you tea,” I say, reaching into my cupboard and taking out two fine ceramic cups. They're from my personal set... one that'd first been gifted to me by an old colleague. The white porcelain is decorated with bluebells and butterflies, the rim of each cup is fringed with gold. “I do hope you'll accept Earl Grey. I've always pegged you as someone who would prefer a more tropical flavor. Something more fruity and exotic.”

“Stop that. Don't move!”

I level a flat stare at him, then continue to busy myself, placing two scones in my toaster oven to warm them up.

“Agent Savage, you won't kill me.”

“You don't know that.”

“I can't smell the hostility on you, true. But I've been in this profession long enough to know how to maintain control in a tense situation.”

In this instance, that means treating Savage as my guest. An intruder will necessarily provoke hostility in his victim, and in turn exhibit a hostile response. A guest on the other hand... well, he must innately submit to his host.

For a long time he just stands on my counter, eyes like icy blue daggers as he keeps the gun trained on me. I make sure to remain three feet from him at all times, lest he _does_ think I'm about to make a move and shoot me, but the whole time I know he isn't holding me hostage. Savage is merely watching me like a cautious hound... alert and uncertain of what is happening.

It's quite unusual to go about under his gaze like this. With me being unable to smell him, it's as if there were a void in the corner where he's standing. As if Jack Savage were more ghost than bunny.

“Now. While we wait...” I turn towards him, “What is it you would like to ask me, Agent Savage?”

“You've always struck me as a suspicious mammal, Conall...” he says, “Always on top of things. So calm, so collected... always so... _professional_.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“But then there was that night I tried to kill myself,” Savage snorts, “I was _sure_ there was a mole in the ZPD then, and the moment you poked your big nose through that door I _knew_ it had to be you. Something about your behavior has always been slightly off, Conall. It's like you're deep in the well of the Uncanny Valley... and frankly, I have no idea how the fuck your patients put up with you, because just talking to you right now... it sends a chill up my fucking spine.”

“Many mammals find a black wolf disturbing, Savage. I am quite accustomed to eliciting some degree of unease, which is precisely why I find tea so useful. It does wonders to help soothe any tensions.”

As if on cue, the kettle begins to let out a shrill whistle. Grabbing a tea towel I pick it up by the handle, pour a generous portion of hot water into the teapot, and give it a swirl to warm the ceramic before I dump the contents into the sink. I fill the pot completely then, place in the mesh strainer, and add a generous scoop of leaves. The smell of aged black tea and bergamot oil is cooling in my nostrils. Steep for three minutes, at two hundred and ten degrees.

“Elkredge might've confessed, but I _know_ you're not all above-board, Conall. I _know_ you were snooping around the ZPD this whole time,” Savage hefts the gun, “And I want to know _why_.”

I'd been organizing my silver tray... milk, cane sugar, the two teacups and the plates for the two scones. But I look up at Savage now, placid and innocent.

 

~~~~~

 

_It'd been nearly four months ago when I heard the tapping at my door. It'd been so soft, so furtive a sound that I'd sat in my chair wondering if I'd been imagining things when the tapping came again. I'd been doing some light reading at the time and enjoying a glass of merlot. Putting my book down, I went to answer the door._

_Opening it I blinked in surprise as I stared down at the disheveled fox before me. Though it was a warm night he was shivering. His shirt was rumpled, his tie undone, and it looked as if he hadn't groomed his fur for a whole day. My nose twitched at the smell of... blood? Traces of blood? The scent was old by perhaps a day, and though Tarquin had given himself a thorough scrubbing a bit of that rusty metallic scent still lingered._

_“I-Isaac... can... can I please come in?” Tarquin asked._

_“Of course. Please...” I said in surprise. He rushed past me into my apartment then, still clutching his shoulders and looking quite queasy._

_“Can I offer you a drink?” I asked._

_“They're back...” he whimpered. “The Vulpes Sanguinis. Isaac, you have to help me!”_

_I leaned my head back then, digesting the grim news he'd just delivered._

_“Brandy, then.”_

_Heading to my wine cupboard, I pulled out a bottle and filled a round glass to the halfway mark. It was a pricier Armagnac, aged twenty years with well-tamed notes of quince and candied orange floating above a deeper base of walnut and vanilla. A cheaper bottle would've done just as well to settle his nerves, but an old friend like Tarquin deserved a bit more consideration._

_Taking the glass eagerly he gave it an obligatory sniff, before downing half of it in one gulp. His face twisted in a grimace as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and warmed his belly._

_“Now,” I said, gesturing for him to take the seat across from me. “Tell me what happened.”_

_I sat there calmly as Tarquin relayed the full, grim details. Sebastian Dusk. Mr. Smythe. Jacob Frisk. A full retinue of the highest-ranked Praetors the Prince had in his employ. A murdered vixen, her body stolen away when they left. He'd broken down crying at **that** detail._

_“You're the only one I can trust, Isaac. You're the only one who knows I'm a Frisk...” he whimpered. “Please! They tried to recruit me, and I- I just can't. I **won't**!”_

_“Of course not,” I agreed. “Hmph. It's no wonder the ZIA is creating a joint task force with the ZPD then. I **did** think it was a bit much, just to deal with a drug epidemic. But the Sanguinis... If you would just go to the ZPD-”_

_“That's why I came to you,” Tarquin urged, the glass of brandy sloshing in his paw as he gestured to me. “My Uncle Jacob was able to slip me a message when he was cleaning up the body. He was able to provide me with all the tactical details on how the Praetors operate, but who could I possibly give it to? My uncle also said he suspected there was a Sanguinis operative that'd been placed in the ZIA! If we approach the wrong mammal... they'll have me killed for **sure**!”_

_“Seraphine,” I said immediately. “Director Margot Seraphine.”_

_“Can she be trusted?”_

_“Of course. I've known Margot for years. She's quite good at hiding pertinent information. However..” I tapped my nose for emphasis, “I've always been able to get a good read on her. She despises the Sanguinis for what they've done, and she's never given me any cause to doubt her loyalties to Zootopia.”_

_“I still don't trust her. Not completely, **especially** given her career choices and her actions as Director. Perhaps we **can** give her this information somehow, but... what about the mole, Isaac? Will you help me uncover him?”_

_I looked at him skeptically. “Espionage is hardly my forte.”_

_“Rooting out the **truth** is your forte, Isaac. You've always been able to sniff out lies and you know whenever a mammal is hiding something. As District Attorney I can get access to public documents, surveillance cameras, phone records... but if I'm to get even the most basic hint of which mammals to investigate, I need **you**.”_

_He didn't have to mention the fact that I'd uncovered his heritage as a Frisk precisely through my unique talents. A little lie of his here, a gap in his record there... it'd added up over time. Of course, when I asked him about it he knew that I could sniff out any lies he could offer. He finally admitted it when I made it clear that it was simple curiosity that fueled me rather than any interest in exposing him. After all, we had long had such a productive working relationship._

_“Of course, old friend,” I sighed._

_I would have to move my working office to the ZPD of course. And try to coax Seraphine into giving me access to her Agents' psych profiles. I do dislike the idea of lying to her and keeping my real motives clandestine, but a few little half-truths..._

_Well. Necessity sometimes uncovers hidden talents._

 

_~~~~~_

 

“Snooping?” I ask. “Why, Agent Savage. Surely you understand that I was monitoring the mental health of the Officers and Agents on your task force. I had discussed the matter with Director Seraphine, and I'm sure you'll agree that given how events had unfolded these precautions were necessary.”

“Don't lie to me, Conall,” Savage growls. “ _You_ were the one who sedated me that night. You'd drugged me up so I couldn't resist when that ambulance came. Packaged me all nice and docile for Rufinius' henchmammals to drag me back into his clutches!”

“I will admit I took some satisfaction in sedating you, Agent Savage,” I smile. Indeed, sliding that needle into his little body, feeling him struggle and thrash and go limp... it had been _quite_ a delicious moment. “But your abduction was merely an unfortunate coincidence. If I did look pleased to sedate you at the time it was only because I considered it even payment for you having Elkredge break into my office.”

Ah Elkredge, the traitor. All those weeks I'd spent poring through psych profiles and sniffing around the ZPD, and he'd been able to evade my senses all this time due to his smoking. Truly an inconvenient habit for me to have to deal with. In truth, the only reason he'd lit my suspicion at all was his odd behavior that night, when I saw him talking into a cheap cellphone rather than the ZIA-issued smartphone he'd been issued. Some deeper digging with more classified files had revealed the truth then, and Tarquin's aid in going through the phone records cemented Elkredge's fate.

“That's _it_?!” Savage's eyes are wide with disbelief.

“As I told you that day you interrupted my evaluation of Benjy Kaplan... I disliked your habit of interfering with my practice. I disliked it _immensely_.”

His paw trembles, he turns his face away from me, and slowly Jack Savage lowers his gun.

“I do apologize for disappointing you, but I was not, nor have I ever been working for the Vulpes Sanguinis.”

And with that he deflates, shoulders slumping. Savage holsters his gun and scoots to the edge of the counter, sitting there with his paws on his knees.

“I- I don't know what I'm doing anymore...” he murmurs.

“Then might I recommend we retire to the living room?” I say, lifting the tea tray.

He hops off the counter and follows me as I head to the other room. Setting the tray down I ask him if he would like milk and sugar. Though most bunnies prefer sweets, Savage declines and instead takes his cup plain. I decide to treat myself however, and add a splash of milk and stir in a spoonful of cane sugar. The earthy flavor of lingering molasses adds a nice layer of complexity as I take a sip.

For a long time Savage just holds his cup, like he's drinking in the warmth through his paws. His eyes are downcast, as if deep in thought.

“So... Agent Savage,” I begin, letting my tone warm towards him. “How do you feel, now that the Vulpes Sanguinis has been neutralized?”

His blue eyes flick up towards me. “What? Is this a therapy session?”

“Better than an assassination attempt, wouldn't you agree?” My mouth curves into a smile.

Jack shakes his head. He hesitates at first, still not quite trusting me. But the moment he opens his mouth it all comes spilling forth, as if he's been eager to confess for far too long.

“I... ever since I was rescued from the Farm, it was like I'd been in a trance the first eight years of my life. When I try to remember anything back then it's like... trying to remember a dream. I have these memories, but none of it seemed like it was _real_. And when I was recovering, it... it was like I was finally beginning to wake up.

“When I joined the ZIA I knew what I wanted to do. I had a _purpose_ in life. Hunt down the Frisks. Kill them all. Rescue the bunnies they kept. I was the top Agent in the ZIA, you know? All the successful missions, all the action film heroics. I felt so _alive_ , finally.

“But this last mission... it brought out something dark in me. Something that I thought I'd recovered from. And the fact is, I'm... not a good mammal. I tried to hunt down and murder an innocent fox, telling myself it was just part of the mission. I've... _done_ things that... looking back on it now, I'm ashamed of. I've never felt that way before. _Never_. I've always been so _certain_ about things, and now... I don't know what to do.”

He finally takes a sip of his tea.

“Agent Savage...” I say, leaning forward in a show of concern, “it's quite understandable for a mammal in your position to feel the way you do. That is the problem with defining yourself by a single life goal. For years you've worked to achieve the downfall of the Sanguinis, and for that to occur without your involvement... well. Unsatisfying would be putting things mildly, wouldn't it?”

“Yeah...” he nods. “Skye... she thinks I need time to recover. To rediscover myself. But I want to do _more_ than that for her. I... I want to be a better mammal. And- God! I don't even know why I'm opening up to you like this!”

He sets the cup down then and rubs his head. “Do you like, release some weird pheromones to get mammals to open up or something?”

“Civility and a good cup of tea are usually all that's necessary,” I shrug.

He stares at his cup suspiciously. “You didn't drug me again, did you?”

“Goodness, no. That would be an insult to good tea.”

He grumbles then, rubbing his eyes. “I... don't even know what to do with my life now. I'm not an Agent anymore. I'm- I'm barely even a bunny! I don't know what the hell I am!”

I give him a moment to compose himself before I speak.

“Agent Savage... we've had our differences and disagreements, but I for one consider it all in the past. Water under the bridge. If you're willing... I would be quite content to help you. So long as you consider me a suitable therapist.”

“I thought you specialized in treating predators.”

“I specialize in helping mammals come to terms with crises of identity due to their species,” I correct him. “And for someone who's spent the first eight years of his life as a captive and the last two decades focused on vengeance, it seems to me that you've never known what it was like to be a bunny. There is a dissonance between your chosen goals and your inner nature that you've never been able to reconcile. This isn't to say that bunnies can't be ZIA Agents, but rather... it requires one to develop a certain frame of mind to have a fully unified psyche.”

“I told you, I'm not an Agent anymore,” Savage sighs. “Seraphine's taken that from me. Or I've fucked that up on my own. Take your pick.”

“It would still be useful for you to make sense of who you were,” I say, setting my cup down. “Especially if you're to develop a healthier attitude on who you could _become_.”

Savage shrugs, but he nods in agreement as if to say “ _what the hell, I've got nothing left to lose_.”

“Don't suppose we can start now?”

“Of course.” Even if I can't detect his emotions through scent for now, I would be a poor psychologist indeed if my talents were completely confounded by such a little thing.

Jack takes off his jacket then. He places his gun on the table and loosens his tie. Leaning back in the chair, he settles himself in. With a long night ahead of us, I fold my paws in front of me.

“Now Jack...” I say with a gentle smile. “Tell me about your mother.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author commentary, spoilers ahoy!)
> 
> I really do love exploring the dynamic between Danny and Benjy, especially now that it's gotten more positive notes. It's still bittersweet, but it's more on the sweet side of things now. I really do think I'll reuse this trope someday, the idea of reincarnated lovers trying to explore the limits of their relationship in their new lives. It's not something I've personally seen very often, but I think that eastern elements of mysticism would allow for amazing new possibilities in storytelling.
> 
> I honestly didn't plan for Chester to make any other appearances after his arrest, but once I got into the Highwatch Prison scenes I've found that he's pretty invaluable to both lighten the mood and to provide more hidden solutions to problems I hadn't considered before. Yet another virtue of having a large ensemble cast to draw from.
> 
> And finally, my favorite section in this chapter: Conall and Jack's impromptu therapy session. Finally we get to see what's going on with our favorite wolf therapist. I have to admit, I originally modeled Conall after Hannibal Lecter. The classiness, the calm, the preternatural sense of smell, even. It's really really satisfying writing from his perspective given how abnormal it is, and it also offers a way for him to provide insight on other characters and their motivations by framing it as a therapy session. It helps give a standard info dump a certain realism for why it would occur.
> 
> I had sprinkled a couple clues around earlier, that Conall knows more than he should for a bystander. One of the earlier chapters had him note that he has a hard time getting a read on Nick because of the scent mask... a detail that Conall SHOULDN'T have known about since the idea of a scent mask was theoretical even to the ZIA at the time, and Conall certainly shouldn't have known that Nick had joined the Sanguinis since (on the side of the "good" guys at least) only Jack's team knew about that. I'd hoped that this little chestnut would've set off alarm bells in the comments, but I didn't see a single peep, sadly. Which pressed me to make his involvement a bit more obvious in subsequent chapters.
> 
> We also get to finally see what Conall meant exactly when he said "Frisk must be told" several chapters ago. His loyalties lay not with Rufinius, or even Jacob. No, Conall was talking about Tarquin Vash and their joint quest to find the mole. He wanted to prevent Judy from finding out, because he didn't want Tarquin's heritage to be outed given their friendship. When Jacob darted both Judy and Tarquin in Chapter 47, it helped provide some cover for Tarquin to keep pretending he wasn't a Frisk.
> 
> Overall Conall has been a great exercise in writing meta-cognition... the consideration of knowing what a character knows, and what that means. And being able to write from such a cognitively aberrant perspecive is especially fun given the constraints I place myself under. For example, at no point do I have Conall reflecting on his emotional state. Even when he does something simple as smiling, he doesn't just "smile." He "lets (him)self smile," like his emotional response is some distant entity he's controlling by remote. I simply have to recycle his character someday.
> 
> Also, I thought it'd be cute to slip in a Freudian cliche at the end. "Tell me about your mother" indeed.


	55. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

_**Benjamin Clawhauser** _

 

“ _Hmmmmm..._ ”

I'm leaning over the front desk, my chin in my paw as I stare at the RACERs chatting it up across the room. They look so _sleek_ in their tight leggings and vests, and the goggles they're wearing really tickles the steampunk fan in me. Those mesh ankle supports too... I mean, I don't have a fetish or anything, but the way those things hug at their feet kinda highlights 'em in a way that's kinda... y'know. _Hot_!

Around the Precinct everyone calls 'em the four cheetah brothers, or “the brothers” for short, though the four of 'em aren't related. Well, three now. One of 'em had taken a bad fall in the Catsro Square rescue and he'd been hospitalized, but give him a couple months to recover and he'll likely be back in the rotation.

There's Jeremy, Spot, Brody, and Clawson. Usually it's hard for most Officers to remember which one is which since they're always so close together, but I've been ogling them for so long that I can tell. Jeremy especially. He's always been the fastest one in the ZPD... kinda famous for it actually. And I gotta be honest, when I tried to start up my new gym routine to get in shape for the ZIA task force evaluations, I would've quit a week in if it weren't for Jeremy. Not that he's ever said two words to me or anything, but going to the department gym has always been a great excuse to ogle him when he's on the treadmill. That, and the gym showers.

I mean I always kept my distance. No one likes a gym creeper, but I seriously have to check myself whenever I get the urge to take a secret photo of him as he's working out. But knowing Jeremy was there had definitely helped me stay motivated with my workout regimen, even when he vanished for a couple months for his RACER training.

It was a real bummer when I heard he hadn't been selected for the ZIA task force. I mean seriously... _what?!_ Did Agent Savage seriously not _see_ him on the track? Guy was seriously robbed of a great opportunity there. I mean, even with how things went down with the Cathedral raid, everyone who was on the team was proud to serve, and some of the guys who weren't put on leave still did a lot of good helping the ZIA round up those creeps keeping bunnies under lock and key.

Well, hopefully now that it's all over everything will get back to normal. A lot of the Officers are still recovering, but I think we've got reason to be optimistic. Though it's probably the new diet talking.

I take a sip of my pineapple seltzer water... pretty refreshing, once you get used to the complete lack of sugar. I was pretty bummed out when I first cut back on the sweet stuff and carbs, but after a couple weeks of eating like this (which a couple cheat meals here and there of course) I've never felt better. I've got more energy in the morning, I sleep better at night, and I've even lost five pounds. I mean, I'll always be my cuddly old plus-size self, but at least I _feel_ healthier.

I'm just mulling over the gym routine I've got lined up after work when I see one of the cheetah brothers head towards me and oh my gosh it's _Jeremy_. He's got that graceful stride, and that lean runners build of his just cuts through the air. Even the way his tail flicks behind him makes him look so _limber_.

I set my drink down so quickly it nearly tips over. Straightening my back and folding my paws in front of me I try to look alert as he comes to the desk. Be cool, Clawhauser. Come on... be cool...

“Hey Clawhauser,” Jeremy says with a friendly grin. He blinks as his eyes flick over my desk. “Hey wasn't there a big box of those carrot candy bars here?”

“Oh! Uh, I think I have a few left,” I say, digging around in the drawer.

“Oh sorry, if you were saving them for yourself...”

“No, not at all!” I insist. “Really, take 'em. I've been cutting down my sugar intake. I think I had my week's worth after that cake last night.” And it was _fantastic_ carrot cake, too, though Nick and Judy didn't seem quite as into it. “Plus after a few weeks of dieting these have gotten to be _way_ too sweet for me.”

“I know, right?” Katzen laughs. “It's like, the first bite is pretty good with all that nutty carroty goodness, but by the end it's like you're chewing a mouthful of syrup.”

He looks me up and down, “Huh, you know, I think you _did_ look a little different this morning.”

“W-well,” I stutter, trying to keep my tail from going too wild behind me, “I mean, I'll never get to RACER levels of fitness, but... y'know. Makin' progress.”

“Eugh, believe me... I don't know if it's worth the trouble,” Jeremy sticks his tongue out at that. “I don't mind the long training hours, but the _diet_ is pure hell. Gotta get the right mix of complex carbs and proteins, divvy up your meals into six small ones a day, keep your serum purine levels in check. There's all these blood test and supplements and... _euuuuuugh_! You _really_ sure you're not gonna eat that candy bar? Honestly, the only reason I'm taking it off your paws is because the docs approved it as a pre-training snack, and me and the boys are headed out for a run.”

“I'm sure.” I can't help but giggle. I've never seen Jeremy frustrated before. He's just so cool and collected that he doesn't seem like he'd ever be vulnerable, but the fact that he has a weak spot is _really_ adorable. “Your trainers let you have cheat meals though? They've definitely helped keep _me_ from going completely bonkers.”

“Kiiiind of. We get one meal a week where we can have anything we want from the cafeteria, but we still gotta watch ourselves to make sure we don't go overboard. And no alcohol, _period_ ,” Jeremy pulls at his face and his eyes roll up to the ceiling, “I swear, I've been having these freakishly erotic dreams about just _binging_ on beer and pasta. Good thing we're being rotated out of active duty for two weeks. First night off I'm gonna stuff myself silly.”

“You ever try Pachyderm Pasta?”

He blinks. “Wait, the place on 26th and Sable? I thought their portions were like...” Jeremy spreads his paws out for emphasis.

“Naw, that's just the signature special they put on the signs,” I grin. “It's kinda like a buffet. You put the sauces and ingredients you want in a bowl, bring it to the counter, and they cook it up in front of you and you can ask for whatever toppings you want. Plus... craft beers!”

“Oh my God that sounds _amazing_...” Jeremy moans. “Look, Clawhauser... or- can I just call you Benjamin? You got a cheat meal coming up this Friday? Wanna join me when I finally get to let loose? All the other guys wanna go out for some seafood buffet, and I don't wanna do the pasta bar alone.”

His paw reaches out to grip mine then, and he gives it a squeeze in a way that suggests he wants to do this as more than just coworkers.

For a moment I can just stare at him. Wait, is he serious? Is this _really_ happening? My tail is lashing like crazy behind me.

“ _Uhhhhhh..._ ”

“Or! Y'know, if you're too busy or like, I dunno if you'd be _interested_ in that way, but...” Jeremy's starting to ramble a bit. Wait, why does _he_ seem nervous?

“Yes! Yes- I- would- love- to- go- out- for- pasta- with- you!”

If I weren't so stunned I'd slap my stupid fat forehead already. I must sound like a complete _idiot_.

“O-okay!” Jeremy grins. “Awesome! It's a date, yeah?”

A date. _A date_!

I know I'm making this ridiculous squealing sound, but Jeremy just looks _relieved_ when I say yes.

 

~~~~~

 

_**Nick Wilde** _

 

“Keep 'em coming, Donna,” I nudge my glass towards her.

“You've had enough, Wilde,” she sniffs. “Come on, you've been tight as a dead clam this whole night. Why doncha tell ol' Donna what's eatin' yer ass?”

“I didn't come here to talk. I came here to get drunk.”

Donna lets out a derisive snort at that. “Oh, bullshit. You could've gotten piss-drunk on your own without having to pay the markup here. Only reason _anyone_ comes to see my ugly mug is because they're in it for something more than just getting smashed. So either you want someone to tell you when to _stop-_ which is what I'm doin' right now- or you wanna _talk_.”

“I'm really, _really_ not in the mood to talk,” I sigh. “And I told you, keep 'em coming.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Donna might've played it legit her whole life, hard as it was for her. But she still had the instincts of a grade-A hustler.

“Oh, I see...” she muses. “Okay, you aren't here to talk. I can buy that. You're here because that bunny of yours was in here two hours ago, and _she's_ the chatty type. You're hoping to milk me for info.”

“...Well?”

“Sorry, Wilde. I ain't gonna be your go-between. Ya wanna solve yer problems, you talk to Flopsy the Copsy yerself.”

I sigh, putting my elbows on the bar and rubbing my temples. “Look, can you just... at least tell me if she seemed okay?”

“She's pretty worried about you, if that's what you're asking. One peach bellini, and she'd been nursing it the whole time she was here. Seemed much less bouncy than she usually is.”

“Yeah, that's to be expected...”

“Cripes, ya really _are_ bummed out, aren't ya?” she shakes her head. “And here I was hopin' the new look was just yer style no longer bein' stuck in the 90s.”

I look down at what I'm wearing. I'd almost forgotten. Plain white t-shirt, brown button-up shirt over it, dark slacks. No Pawaiian pattern or tie. Not a trace of color. After being stuck in prison orange for a while I'd come back home to a wardrobe that no longer seemed to suit me. Even changing into the set of street clothes Judy had brought me when she picked me up felt like I was wearing someone else's skin.

With a resigned sigh, Donna pulls out the bottle of whiskey and fills my glass. “Look... last one, Wilde. And only because I'm feelin' nice.”

“Me and my liver thank you,” I say, raising my glass to her in a mock toast. I take a nice long sip of it. This is some of the good stuff... not the five-buck-chuck you buy at the liquor store. I've had too much cheap booze over the years, and even though that crap feels like an old friend it also tastes of long, shameful nights flecked with bad decisions and a good load of vomit.

The stuff that's sliding down my throat now... it's like that old buddy of mine has cleaned himself up and there's something new to look forward to when I'm welcoming him back. There's none of those awful cloying sulfates that leave me struggling to keep it down. It's just rich and earthy like vanilla and black licorice, and it leaves a warmth spreading through me as I stare at my reflection rippling in the amber surface.

A fox. Why did I have to be born a fox?

Donna notices my morose expression and leans in.

“Ya know... there's a word for what yer feelin'. Well, dunno how well it _fits_ if I gotta be honest, but how about I tell ya what I told yer bunny?”

I really wasn't interested in Donna's usual vocabulary lesson. Yet just as she's about to open her mouth the stool next to me creaks, and I turn to see Jack Savage pulling himself onto the seat. That's weird... I didn't smell him coming.

“Cognac, on the rocks.”

All of a sudden, the whiskey in front of me doesn't seem so appealing anymore.

Savage must've noticed me tense, because he turns to me with a relaxed little smile. His tie had been tugged loose, and he's taking off his jacket right now and setting it on the bar. There's something different about him, too... there isn't any of that thinly-veiled hostility he always had towards me.

“So... trouble in paradise, I hear?” he smirks. “Word around the precinct is you and Judy aren't getting along.”

“We're getting along just _fine_ ,” I growl. Of course, my tone betrays the truth. Bad idea to be drunk around this stripey asshole... my emotions are too raw to deal with his shit right now.

I mean, it's not like me and Judy have broken up. And we aren't _fighting_ , exactly. But... things have just gotten messed up and there's this strain between us that's keeping us from talking. It's just so hard to be around her. And it's so hard to be _without_ her. Because after everything that's happened how could we expect our relationship to survive? It feels like it might just be _inevitable_ that we'd break up, and the fact that we'd both agreed to take some time apart from each other kinda feels like we're just dragging things out and making it more painful for us in the end.

Problem is, Judy's rubbed off on me too much, because there's this itty bitty part of me that feels hope. And that's the most dangerous thing in the world... it's what keeps you going long after you should've surrendered, leaves you squandering your life on something that just won't work. So many hustles bank on your mark _hoping_ things will turn out for the best, _hoping_ that you haven't been swindled. _Hoping_ that you could trust this fox with his smooth way of talking and his coy smile.

So yeah... that's the question then, isn't it? Have I just hustled myself into thinking that things might work out for the best between me and Judy?

“Relax, Wilde,” Savage says, putting up a paw, “I'm just here to talk.”

“And I'm just leaving,” I say, gulping down the rest of my whiskey in one shot. I wince as it burns its way down my throat.

“What? Don't wanna hear what I have to say?” he asks as Donna sets his drink in front of him. Savage picks up the glass and takes a nice, long sniff before sampling it. “I was hoping to have an honest conversation with you. Lay it all out on the table, as it were.”

“There's not enough booze in the world to make me sit here and listen to anything you have to say.” I toss a couple large bills on the counter, enough to cover the drinks and to give Donna a generous tip. Pushing the glass aside I'm about to hop off the stool when Savage just casually turns to me.

“I tried to poison your father.”

My paws freeze on the bar.

Slowly I turn my head towards Savage. My heart's racing. My eyes are growing wide. The breath is coming out of me in panicked huffs. After everything I've been through, after everything I've tried to do to protect those around me. After all those years of mourning my dad, and the months of learning to trust him again, to _love_ him again...

“Relax. I kept him from ingesting it at the last moment.”

“You- you're a fucking _psycho_...” I gulp. Donna has her back to the both of us, but she's busy pretend-polishing the same glass as she listens in.

“Probably, yeah...” Savage shrugs. “But don't worry. Your dad's safe. And so are you, for now. Director Seraphine is making sure I stay on a short leash like a good little bunny. So why don't you just give me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say?”

I really, _really_ don't want to talk to this crazy rabbit. Hell, part of me thinks I've had my fill of rabbits, _period_. But I sit there, stock-still and unable to make a single twitch as Savage continues.

“Now... I just told you a little secret of mine,” he continues, “So... I think it's fair I get to hear one from you. About your activities in the past few months.”

“I don't know what else you want,” I tell him. “You guys grilled me so thoroughly it feels like I should have scorch marks on my back.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I read the debriefing report,” he says, swirling his drink. The ice clinks against the glass like he's rolling a pair of medicine balls in his paw. Like he's meditating on it. “See, your dad was just half an inch away from putting the cup to his mouth... this long, slow, painful death. But I stopped him. Do you know _why_ I did that?”

“Your kind and forgiving nature?”

“Ha!” he belts out a laugh, and snickers to himself as he takes another sip of his cognac. “You know, after I get over my personal issues I might just like you someday, Wilde. You're a funny mammal.”

“That just leaves me _brimming_ with joy.”

Savage continues to shake his head, chuckling. “No, see... I stopped your dad because I noticed which paw he used to take the cup. And turns out... you father's a lefty, isn't he?”

I just stare at him.

“Right paw versus left paw... classic question in the whodunit, yeah?” he muses. “Thing is... the forensic report on Skye's injuries... it suggested that she was attacked by someone wielding a metal bar in his _right_ paw.”

I remain completely silent. There's only the clink of ice, the squeak of the rag that Donna is using to polish her glass, Savage turning just enough to look at me with his baby blues.

“So tell me a secret, Wilde: who was it that attacked Skye?”

I can only stare at him. For a moment I weigh my options as to what would hurt him more. The truth, or a lie? What would be the last little stab I could give this prick?

But in the end I just lean forward, muzzle wrinkling in anger.

“You tried to kill me. You tried to kill my dad. Why the hell should I give you _any_ satisfaction?”

“Mmm. Satisfaction,” Savage raises an eyebrow at that. “The way things are going, you're not gonna be giving Judy any, either.”

“That's it... we're done here,” I grunt as I hop off the stool and turn to leave.

“You should know, Wilde...” he calls out at my back, “I'm trying to make my peace here. But if I _ever_ learn that you were the one who tried to kill Skye... I _will_ find a way to hurt you. Whether you're protected by Seraphine or not.”

 

~~~~~

 

_**Judy Hopps** _

 

It's two in the morning and I'm sitting in the darkness, my face lit only by the soft glow of my cellphone. I'm curled up in my bed, a pillow between my knees, with another at my back so I can sit up comfortably. Beside me on the bed is the little stuffed fox I'd gotten, with the green shirt and tie that my sisters had helped sew for me. A little police badge sticker is still stuck to his front.

“ _You're not looking too good, Sis..._ ” Cory says, face scrunched up with worry. “ _I mean, didn't everything work out? Or... did you and Nick break up?_ ”

“No... I mean... not exactly,” I rub my forehead and trying to keep my voice down in case I wake Bucky or Pronk. “It's complicated. It's... I'm sorry, Cory. I don't know what I was thinking calling you so late.”

“ _Don't be! I_ _ **did**_ _tell you to keep me updated on everything! Besides, I know you city folk stay up at all sorts of crazy hours._ ”

“How are Mom and Dad?”

“ _They're good. Worried. And they're not why you actually called._ ”

Littermates. They always see right through you, don't they?

“It's just... everyone _knows_ that Nick basically had a gun held to his head this whole time he was with the Sanguinis. But he still keeps blaming himself for things he didn't do. He's just been so _depressed_ and he's so bent on punishing himself and I just don't know how to _communicate_ with him anymore.”

“ _Well... Nick's definitely rubbed off on you a bit_ ,” says Cory.

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

“ _Aww, Jude... you gotta know what I mean. Ever since you moved to Zootopia you've changed. And in some ways it hasn't been for the better. You're so much more_ _ **private**_ _now. All distant-like. I mean, I know Dad made a big deal being worried about you getting assaulted by the big bad predators at first, but I think for him... for_ _ **all**_ _of us... we were more scared that once you got a taste of the Big City... you'd change, y'know? Home would look so much_ _ **smaller**_ _to you. You won't be able to relate to us ol' bumpkins on the farm, and it feels like you won't be able to come back._ ”

“Cory...” I say, shaking my head. “It's... it's not like that. Bunnyburrow is _always_ gonna be a special place for me.”

“ _Then come home. Please,_ ” Cory insists. “ _I'm_ _ **not**_ _saying this because I want you to quit being a cop in Zootopia or anything. You know me better than that. I'm saying this because you need to take care of_ _ **yourself**_ _right now. You're a big hero, Judy, but you spend so much time protecting everyone else that sometimes you don't know your own limits._ ”

I look away from the screen. Deep down I know Cory is right. Even police officers need time to heal. It's why I've been put on administrative leave in the first place.

“ _ **Please**_ _, Judy. Just stay with us for a few weeks. Spend the holidays here. Just until we make sure you stabilize and you're okay._ _ **Then**_ _you can go back to saving the world._ ”

“Cory...”

Could I really come home now? I'd been hoping I'd be able to bring Nick back with me. A triumphant return, of sorts. But right now it feels like a part of me deep down inside had been scooped out, and this hollow space in me is something I'd have to carry back to Bunnyburrow if I _did_ return. After all the fun I had introducing Nick to the family so long ago, coming back _without_ him feels like I'd feel his absence all the more.

“ _You_ _ **have**_ _bonded with him, haven't you?_ ” Cory sighs when he recognizes the long pause of me mulling it over. “ _Makes it even more crucial for you to come back then._ ”

“It's not like that!” I huff. “This isn't a broken bond. Nick didn't die- we didn't even break up!”

“ _No... not officially. And I'm really cheering for you two to get back together I really am... but be honest, Judy..._ ” he lowers his voice, and the way he's looking at me through the screen makes him look so _scared_ for me. “ _Have you been eating right? Sleeping?_ ”

“I...” I sigh. “No. I haven't had much of an appetite. And I haven't really been able to sleep.”

I mean, I'd gone to Giraffa's Grille hoping that just being there would stimulate my appetite, but the moment I arrived I'd gone straight to the bar. Donna Weaselton had picked up on my mood, as expected. Bartenders are perceptive like that. For a while she'd left me to sip at my peach bellini, but I couldn't even manage to finish _that_ , tasty as it was.

“ _Yeah... I suspected when you called me and it's-_ _ **jeepers**_ _, it's two in the morning!_ ”

Cory takes a moment to collect himself. “ _Look, is_ _ **that**_ _why you're hesitating on coming home? You think Mom's gonna notice you're looking a little thin and put two and two together?_ ”

He's hit it right on the head there. Nearly three hundred brothers and sisters... so many cousins and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews. All of them whispering behind my back, worrying about my health. Terrified that I'd die of a broken heart...

“Can't you and Dixie just come up here?” I ask, probing for an alternative solution. “You guys can stay with me...”

“ _That's the City Girl in you talking now, tryin' to keep things hush-hush..._ ” Cory says with a sad little smile. “ _The two of us would be totally on board, but you know that isn't how it works. Besides, mom would be_ _ **really**_ _upset with us if she found out we were hiding it from her._ ”

This wasn't fair. Getting over a broken bond is all about going through a grieving process. But how can I grieve over someone who isn't really gone? I've _tried_ to reach out to Nick, to get him to _talk_... but he's just been in his depressive slump for so long...

And that's when my ears perk up.

“ _Judy?_ ” Cory blinks. “ _Judy, what's wrong?_ ”

I'm not sure what's driving me now. It's not like I'd heard anything... not consciously at least. Maybe it's instinct, or something even deeper... but it feels like a feather had just brushed against my soul.

Climbing out of my bed I make my way over to the window, and in the back of my mind I'm thinking back to what Donna had told me at the bar.

“ _There's a word for what you're feelin', ya know... real special. Probably fits ya to a T,_ ” she'd said.

“ _Yeah? What's that?_ ”

I hadn't been interested, not really. But I'd let Donna go on.

“ _Ma-mih-lapin-a-ta-pai_ ,” she says, sounding out almost every syllable. I was pretty sure it wasn't pronounced that way in the native tongue, but it sounded so foreign that it made sense for Donna to not even bother trying. “ _Hey, I thought it was funny. 'Lapin,' for 'bunny,' right?_ ” she'd smirked.

I look out the window. There, standing in the shadows just past the circle of light shed by a streetlamp, a figure is standing. Lean and lanky and taller than me, his silhouette is sleek and pointy. He flinches, like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't. But he clearly sees me standing here at the window, because with one little step he comes just close enough into the light that I can see him.

“ _It's a beautiful word, really... beautiful and sad..._ ” Donna's voice is like a soft whisper in the back of my mind. “ _Super pithy, but linguists say it's probably the hardest word in the world to translate._ ”

Green eyes. Red fur. He's not wearing his usual Pawaiian shirt. And to see him without a tie is just so wrong. But it's him.

“ _What's it mean?_ ” I'd asked.

“ _It's... a look. Between two mammals..._ ” Donna had said, struggling to explain. “ _Just imagine the two of ya standing across from each other in a room. Maybe it's a crowded bar, or a high school dance. A cocktail party. Some place or event where ya came here alone, but you'd hoped that you'd be leaving with_ _ **company**_ _. And then ya see this mammal across the room, and he sees_ _ **you**_ _._ ”

Behind me Cory is still on the phone, calling my name and asking if I'm all right. I ignore him and press my paw to the window, just at the base. My breath's fogging up the cold glass as I'm looking out at him. He doesn't look right, in that plain white t-shirt beneath the dark brown overshirt, so bleak and colorless. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He's just standing out there all alone in the cold... gazing up at me, and I can only stare back.

“ _Yer eyes meet, and ya hope he'll come over and say something. And_ _ **he**_ _hopes_ _ **you'll**_ _come over and say something. But you two wallflowers just can't work up the courage to initiate it yerselves. It's like there's this invisible barrier between the two of you, so all you can do is share that one, long look._ ”

His paw twitches for a moment, like he was about to wave at me. And his leg tenses, like he's about to take another step forward. Any moment now I could open the window and say his name. Any moment I could just work up the courage to call him up here.

“ _It's a shared look. It's a moment that's pregnant with meanin'. It's the long hope that something's gonna happen that'll bring the two of you's together. And it's the empty feelin' in yer soul when you know that it ain't gonna happen, cuz yer not ready. And_ _ **he's**_ _not ready. And the both of ya_ _ **know**_ _it._ ”

Nick...

“ _Mamihlapinatapai_ ,” Donna had said, more smoothly the second time around. “ _If there's a word fer it, it means other mammals have felt it before. It means you ain't alone, feelin' what ya feel._

 _“And_ _ **that**_ _always helps._ ”

 

**~~~~~**

 

_**Jacob Cornelius Frisk** _

 

“Oh _please_ tell me it was one of the Chinese eggplants...” I snort, trying to contain my laughter as I keep my cards close to my chest. “The long, narrow ones?”

“ _Goodness_ , Mr. Frisk!” Chester gushes, putting on an expression of mock surprise, “Are you saying you favor length over girth? Larry, got any Fours?”

“I _think_ he's saying he doesn't want to see you getting turned inside-out from your misadventures,” Larry sticks his tongue out in disgust. “And Go Fish.”

Chester hooks his arm into mine once again, nuzzling close as he plucks a card from the deck with his free paw. He frowns as he adds it to the little pile he's got face-down in front of him.

I have to say, life in prison has been _so_ much easier with him around, even with his disturbing habit of calling me “Daddy” with all the multilayered meanings it contains. The fact is, his whole shtick of learning to mimic Nicholas for his comedy routine meant Chester had gotten to know him really well, and in a way it meant that I was getting reacquainted with my son even if I couldn't see him face-to-face. I actually wake up in the morning refreshed and upbeat and eager to start a new day with Chester around.

He's gotten quite fond of me too, in turn. Chester doesn't like to talk much about his family, but I'm getting the impression that he's been starving for a good father figure most of his life. And though he'll obviously never replace Nick in my heart, it's kinda nice to act as a mentor of sorts to someone who's practically a teenager, maturity-wise. The fella listens, too. For the most part. I mean, at least he's cut down on the prison whoring. Somewhat.

It's like I'm finally getting the chance to see a young tod through the years I'd missed with the old Jellybean. Though I can only hope that Nick wasn't quite as promiscuous when he was Chester's age.

“Got any Kings?” I ask Gary.

“Aww man!” the wolf white wolf grumbles, passing me his two Kings. “This sucks! I haven't gotten ANY points yet!”

“We really should switch to Poker,” I grin. “It's a thinking mammal's game.”

“Psssht. I've played with foxes before,” Larry grumbles, “You know how much money I lost in a single night? No offense Mr. Frisk, but you tods are _vicious_ when it comes to counting cards!”

“Hey, _I_ never do that!” Chester protests.

“Counting cards takes brains,” Larry lets out a snort, “And that's not the end of you that gets the most practice.”

“Eh. True,” the young fox admits with a shrug.

“I'm just sayin',” Larry continues, “a game that's a bit more dependent on luck is a bit more fair when you're playing with a fox. Well, most foxes anyway.”

Gary's about to take his turn when I see one of the guards approaching. He's a really tall rhino, and he's got a lumbering stride that almost shakes the ground with each step. We're just keeping to ourselves all peaceful-like, but we all put our cards down and keep our paws where the guard can see 'em.

“Hey Frisk,” he says, gesturing behind him with a hoofed thumb. “You've got a visitor.”

My spine stiffens. I'd _told_ Nicholas not to see me here.

“I'm... not sure I want to see him...” I say politely. “Can I say no, Sir?”

“Whatever,” the guard shrugs. “But it ain't who you think it is. Visitor's a vixen, says she's your wife?”

Vivian.

Nodding blankly, I get off the bench and extricate myself from Chester's grip, then follow the guard through the security checkpoints to the visitor's center. It isn't the standard visiting area we go to, with the phones and the plexiglass walls separating inmates from the guests. We're actually headed to the rooms dedicated for conjugal visits.

Wait... Vivian couldn't... she- it's been twenty years!

I'm suddenly thinking about our wedding day now... that tiny little chapel with only a few friends as our guests. We hadn't been able to afford much of a ceremony, not with our budget. But we hadn't needed much back then so long as we had each other.

When I enter the room it feels like I'm stepping up to that altar again, giddy and frightened and ecstatic all at once. I hadn't expected to see the same vixen I'd known twenty years ago... with her fluorescent pink blouse and denim jacket from the Lisa Loups fashion line. But it's still a shock to see the vixen in front of me... more mature now, like a good wine. She's wearing a purple top and a dark brown autumn skirt. It's a subdued look... very down-to-earth, so very _her_ even after all these years.

“John...” she says with a smile.

And her voice... exactly the same as I'd remembered it. It's not nearly so bouncy or girlish now. All that had mellowed out with time into something more confident. Even a little stern. But there's a familiar sweetness to it too, and I'm trying not to let myself get overwhelmed.

“Viv...” I say, taking a heavy swallow.

“You know, you could've done me the courtesy of contacting me,” she says with a wry twist of her mouth. “All these years, and Nick was the first one you got in touch with. It's... so very _you_.”

“I'm... sorry?” I wince. “I honestly didn't think you'd be happy to see me.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” she snorts, and Vivian rolls her eyes the way she used to. “I held out hope, you know. That it wasn't really you that got run over. That your crazy family had somehow dragged you away from me and Nick. Even after all these years a small part of me wanted to believe you weren't really gone.”

“And are you... pleased? To see me?”

Working for the Vulpes Sanguinis as one of the Prince's lieutenants for all these years, and I still can't help but submit to my wife on matters like this. I can only hope that other things have stayed the same between us.

“Mostly, yeah...” she shrugs, but finally steps forward to hug me. I tuck my chin into the crook of her neck and close my eyes, drinking deep her scent. The smell of rosemary and other woody herbs... it's so _familiar_ that it almost brings tears to my eyes. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Viv, you have to realize it's not safe, coming here like this...” I murmur, even though the last thing I want to do is push her away.

“Oh stuff it, John...” she says, kissing the side of my cheek. Then my muzzle. Her paws are gripping my back and she's squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe, like she's trying to feel every inch of me to make sure I'm real. “I swear, it really is like-father-like-son in this family. Nick did his best to protect Judy, too...”

“I- I haven't been faithful to you, Viv... not exactly...”

Rhona... we'd never consummated our feelings towards one another. But we'd certainly bonded emotionally. Those little touches we'd shared. The long, lingering glances we'd shoot one another. I'd carried her to her bed in the end and wept over her the way I would've for Vivian...

“Is she here?” Vivian sniffs.

“W-well, no... but...”

“Then we'll talk about that later. You're going to tell me the _truth_ , and I'll see if I can forgive you or not,” she says, giving me another kiss. “But until then don't you _dare_ spoil this moment any further for me.”

“Yes ma'am,” I say, trying to sound respectful, when she gives me a playful rap on the head with her knuckles.

“Ow.”

“'Ma'am'?” she chuckles. “Didn't I _just_ say not to spoil the moment?”

“Well I'm sorry, Viv but you kinda have got me at a disadvantage!” I huff, and she chuckles as she steps away from me.

“Well, I always did, didn't I?” she smirks. “Thing is, I came here to talk about our son.”

“He's not in trouble, is he?”

“He's _depressed_ ,” she sighs. “He's made a whole art of trying to hide his feelings from me ever since you left, but he's not as clever as he thinks he is around me. The ZIA couldn't tell us much about what happened, and the ZPD is keeping things quiet too. But... we had a party at the Department the other night. And he and Judy... I'm worried for them.”

“Well... that's to be expected...” I sigh, sitting down on the rickety bed beside us. Eugh. How much action has this mattress seen?

“It broke my heart seeing them that night,” Vivian says, sitting down next to me, “Nick trying to keep up appearances. Judy doing her best to make it look like she was just crying tears of joy. I wanted to ask him how they were doing, but... well. I've never been able to connect with him enough for him to trust me with his romantic life.”

“Well, let's be honest. A tod hardly wants to go to his mother about this sort of thing.”

“So that's why I'm here...” she leans her head against my shoulder. “Got any insights, Mr. Wilde?”

“Well... Jellybean is way stronger than he lets on,” I sigh.

Strength isn't just from how much suffering you can endure, I've learned over the years. It isn't just about your ability to keep your emotions hidden away. It's about how well you pick up the pieces when you _do_ break down. In the past twenty years the Prince had broken me so many times, and I'd spent so many nights crying myself to sleep in my room. I'd like to think that in the end I was able to pick myself back up, pull together, and focus on the greater goals in mind. Things certainly did turn out as if that'd been the case.

“Like father, like son, you'd said...?” I muse. “Nick'll pull through. I _know_ it. Deep down he's just so crazy in love with Judy he can't possibly let her slip away from him.”

“Judy's the same way, I think...” Vivian muses, tapping her chin in thought. “I've never seen a gal so smitten. Well, 'smitten' isn't even the right word there. It almost makes me jealous, the way she looks at him. Makes me wonder if I'll ever feel so strongly about anyone.”

“Gee, thanks,” I huff, and Vivian giggles as I pull her close.

“Oh John, you know I didn't mean it like _that_!”

“Yeah, yeah...” I chuckle.

As much as I hate to admit it, but Nick certainly loves her more than I ever did Vivian. It isn't just the fiery, physical passion that younger mammals have towards each other. It isn't just the bone-deep loyalty that two fighters have on the battlefield, where devotion are forged through hardship and sacrifice and victory. It isn't just the selfless empathy and compassion of the spirit, or the long-lasting bond that just grows stronger with each passing year.

It's rare as a lunar rainbow, or a flash of lightning from a clear sky. It's so beautiful to witness that it scares me a little, knowing that passion like that could ever exist in the world. Like a legend come to life.

It's not gonna be easy... there's gonna be a lot of pain to work through, and they'll need to learn to trust each other again. And that has to start with Nick being able to forgive himself, and for Judy much the same. Guilt is a deep pit for someone to crawl out from, and for the moment at least, he'll be doing it alone.

With my back to the wall, I pull Vivian closer. She lies with her head on my chest and she closes her eyes, a smile playing on her face. Even after all this time I know what she's thinking about, and I join her and close mine.

The bleak whitewashed walls vanish, the pale fluorescent light mutes to a distant hum. I'm back on that hillside again, sitting beneath the tree on the outskirts of the City with the picnic blanket beneath us. It's a warm night, and beneath us the City lights up the sky with a fluorescent glow of pink and green and gold and blue. It's like an aurora had settled into the earth, practically _singing_ for us through the night.

Zootopia was always a place where hopes come to be born. And though it may take some time... though it may take some struggle and strain... in the end, hope is always worth it.

 

 

END OF PART 2

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's commentary, spoilers ahead!)
> 
> As I mentioned a while back, I wanted to put a much more positive spin on Clawhauser than I sometimes see. He's often portrayed as bit of an oaf or a buffoon, and in one canon comic he caused some major trouble because he got donut frosting on some forms that were filed.
> 
> This kinda rubbed me the wrong way because it came off as kinda fat-shamey, and there's too much of that in the real-life gay community already (the old “no fats, no fems, no asians” crap). So I wanted to make sure that Clawhauser gets a more positive portrayal and he gets a moment to shine. The only change I wanted to make in his character is a transition towards a more healthy lifestyle (something catalyzed by his attempt to get in shape for the task force evaluations), because diabetes is scary.
> 
> He's always gonna be his big, sweet, plus-size self in my book, and a proper happy ending for him is that he finds love and acceptance for who he is, pudge and all. It's another reason I included Jeremy Katzen as a minor OC, to help provide Clawhauser a romantic interest with which to bond over delicious pasta. Noodles are my weakness.
> 
> Jack is definitely on the road to recovery, but with only one therapy session under his belt as of now he still has a long way to go. So he's naturally still going to be a bit of an ass.
> 
> And omgwtf. Was Jacob the one who assaulted Skye? Or was it Nick after all?! I'm keeping quiet on that for now, but I couldn't help add one last little mystery here. But there IS a clue as to the truth hidden deep in the story.
> 
> "Right paw versus left paw... classic question in the whodunit," is a callback to what Nick sad in his task force evaluations way back in Chapter 4. While I had this scene planned from the beginning, in the rush to pump out more chapters I never found a way to outline the forensic analysis of the attack on Skye to show that she was attacked by a right-hander (pawder?). Besides, most people would generally assume a right-hander is the perpetrator in most crimes so it shouldn't have set any red flags to be worth mentioning this detail. Wish I could've found a better way to telegraph it though.
> 
> “Mamihlapinatapai” is a word from the Yaghan language, a tribe in Tierra Del Fuego. I really love terms like this... sad and wistful and wanting. In my character notes for Donna I wanted her to be well-read to add a nice juxtaposition against her earthy demeanor, so she was the best delivery vehicle for these things.
> 
> And finally... I wanted to end on a more hopeful note with Jacob's section. With him and Vivian coming back together, I wanted them to act as a hint that despite everything Nick and Judy went through, they WILL recover from this. And they WILL fall in love again.
> 
> Please stick around, because Chapter 56 won't really be another chapter. Just an afterword where I do a rundown of my final thoughts on this story.


	56. Afterword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some final thoughts. Go back to read the epilogue if you haven't!

Welp, that's the end of Part 2 of It's A Fox Thing.  Again, I'm posting this RIGHT AFTER I posted the Epilogue, so please roll back a chapter and read it if you somehow skipped it.

Much as with the original arc, I'm sure you guys can pick up on the fact that Sanguine Shadow was based off of the current political climate. This past year was absolutely hellish for me, and I've had to struggle a lot with depression and the immense feeling of powerlessness and pain in a world that feels like it'd gone mad. It was like we'd been beset by sinister forces from without and within. So for me, this was my way of both venting and coping.

In the process, I learned SO MUCH in writing. How to craft a long-form story, how to balance a large cast of characters, how to pace myself in writing, how to set scenes in new and refreshing ways and give each narrator a different and unique “flavor” in how they provide an internal monologue. Judy by far was the most challenging, but I think that towards the end I came to figure her out. I've also developed the endurance to write upwards of 10,000 words a day. It feels great, because I feel completely different from the author I was a year ago.

And honestly, I have all you guys to thank in participating in this project with me. Thank you all so much for taking the time out of your lives to read my work and offer commentary. I totally appreciate it.

Now, I wanted to take a moment to answer a couple objections that were brought up early on.

“The pacing of the story is a problem.” Can't disagree there. Initially I'd thought that this story was going to be about 30-40 chapters long. However, a piece of fiction is a living, evolving thing, I've found. A plot this long and complex is a wriggly little beast, and keeping it under control was like trying to drag a dog over to the tub for bathtime. It kinda gets away from you and drags you along in several different directions before you can tame it. Things that I'd thought were obvious at the time needed more details to keep them from becoming plot holes, or I'd be swept away in a scene that demanded more detail and attention.

Another complicating factor is the fact that fanfiction is necessarily published in a chapter-by-chapter format. If I were writing a traditional novel, I would of course be editing each chapter as I went along. Yet in the end I would have the entire thing written before I went back and reviewed it as a whole for pacing issues and plot holes and see how each chapter flowed into the next, and I'd be able to fix up earlier chapters and make sure the book as a whole worked before I sent it off to publication. But here on AO3 or Fanfiction.net, if I went back to review my work and found weaknesses in chapters I wrote two months ago, they're kinda locked in and I can't exactly make major changes anymore. At least, not without alienating some readers. So I hope you guys understand this.

“The Vulpes Sanguinis were totally OP.” Well, I had of course meant to generate that *perception* to make them appear to be an intimidating foe. To me, being OP means that a character or organization has absurd and unreasonable advantages. Yet the reality is that while the Praetors were highly trained and Rufinius was meant to be a brilliant strategist, a lot of their strength was built on legitimate trickery and guile rather than spooky mystical reasons. A lot of their plots succeeded in large part because Elkredge was feeding them inside information, for example.

“The scent mask is a totally OP Macguffin.” This surprised me, actually. I mean, we have a world populated by mammals with significant sensory advantages over us humans. The sense of smell in wolves and other predators in particular is something that would make espionage and infiltration *very* difficult if a countermeasure like a scent mask hadn't been developed. Hence, scent mask. It also provided a pivotal plot point, since this was how Nick was outed by Lenny as someone who really did have connections to the VS, likely as a Praetor. I also wanted to create a sharper distinction between the techniques of the Praetors VS the ZIA Agents with this: while the ZIA use drones and electronics to get things done, the Praetors focus more on biomedical applications, as well as physical and psychological training. Two somewhat opposite approaches.

“You have too many OCs.” Well... yes. As I mentioned in another author commentary section, the story I wanted to tell was one of complex espionage and intrigue, with multiple motives and plans crisscrossing each other. And that *requires* a large cast. I mean, Elkredge's identity as the Mole needed to be hidden behind multiple red herring characters for this plot arc to be effective, and that was just one thing! Each secondary character also helped provide another perspective to help get a more multifaceted view of the plot. But I did try to keep the focus on Nick, Jack, and Judy as the central characters. Jack was supposedly trying to defeat the Vulpes Sanguinis, when in reality a big (but not the only) motivating factor for him was revenge. Nick wanted desperately to protect Judy and try to do the right thing, in the rapidly diminishing hope that they'd still be together in the end somehow. Judy's arc was about her trying to stay true to her beliefs in a situation where she's liable to buckle and break.

“Your OCs are all terrible people.” A matter of perspective, I'd say. I try to craft characters that have more severe flaws than you'd normally see, largely because people who are a bit more fucked up tend to provide more interesting narrative, as well as deeper insights into what it means to be human (or in this case, mammal). This is because I think that people in general are more fucked up than we like to admit.

“Rather uncomplimentary statements about my portrayal of Nick/Judy.” Here's something I only recently came to realize... is that I think that this may be due in large part to a culture clash. Because the culture I grew up in and mainstream American culture have some pretty stark differences. In my culture, we tend to value being more cautious or quiet when we speak, out of fear of being judged negatively for even minor things. And this leads to a lot of tension because it makes communication with Americans rather difficult. When I'm around others of my ethnic background we understand that there are subtleties in communication, and the refusal to speak around certain topics in certain situations is something you need to let go.

This is in part what I wanted to fuel the tension between Nick and Judy... the fact that they are from two *very* different cultural backgrounds. Judy being a bunny and living in a family unit of 300 or so others and in tight-knit nuclear units of litters means that privacy is pretty much nonexistent, so she's much more comfortable with open communication. Nick on the other hand, he's from a culture that suffers from a great deal of institutional discrimination, so he's had to keep things internalized his whole life. For him, keeping mum when things are scary is in his view the right thing to do. And it's this clash in values and perspectives that is putting so much strain on the two by the end.

Another element of cultural dissonance: the idea of suffering. Where I come from, there's a certain value in suffering for a greater cause. Some of the core stories we're told as children, the historical fables given to us to teach us values, tell us that sometimes one must endure suffering towards a greater cause. In this view, pain isn't just necessary sometimes. It can even be desirable or heroic. And it feels like this is why I subconsciously shaped Nick's plot arc in a way that spoke to me, but didn't resonate well with certain other readers. The closest Western European analogue for my version of Nick might be the Byronic hero, which yeah wouldn't be for everyone.

Frankly, the negative comments about how I portrayed Nick and Judy were the most worrisome ones for me, especially since my biggest nightmare scenario here is being a literary equivalent of Borba (bc life totally begins at conception). Apologies to Borba of course, because I don't want to crap on their art... but I definitely do see some parallels between how critics have felt about this story and how critics reacted to the reaaaaaaally controversial abortion plotline Borba did, and that leaves me feeling icky.

So... where do we go from here? It's honestly hard to say. I do love Zootopia. I love the fan community and I'm also quite invested in the interpretation of the world and the characters I've made in these two stories. I have so many ideas for what to do now: Maybe a little look into the life of Thomas Daywood as he goes back to school. Or few short stories of Milo's new life in Feltaleza. I even had a separate story idea involving a Zootopia/Hannibal Lecter crossover, because I'm a horrible person and I love dark shit like that.

Yet the top priority of course would be giving Nick and Judy a satisfying resolution where they recover from their angst and come together once again. In Part 1 they were tested and came through stronger than before. In Part 2 they were pushed to the brink and nearly broken. And a Part 3 would be a much shorter and personal arc, straying far away from action and centering more on Nick, Judy, and Jack healing from the traumas the endured.

A couple things are holding me back though, and I gotta be honest here because I don't wanna make promises I can't keep. First off... after writing a solid 400,000 words of Zootopia fanfic (!!!), I feel like I'm finally able to work on the fantasy novel I've been wanting to write ever since I was in high school. I mean, it's about damn time I tried to go professional. Can't be worse than Stephanie Meyer or E.L. James, amirite? I mean, quality of writing aside, these two stories are more than the first three Harry Potter novels *combined*. If I wrote another 8 or so chapters, I'd be hitting the length of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Wowsers!

Another problem is that after focusing on writing Zootopia stuff for 10 months straight, I'm feeling a little burned out from the fandom as a whole, and I'm worried that if I do push myself through a Part 3 I wouldn't be able to give it the love it deserves. I think I just need some time to recover, focus on some other personal projects, and maybe work on my original writing for a little while.

Finally... I'm sure that those who've commented have noticed that the comments section throughout this whole story have gotten a little heated. While I came into this originally promising myself I'd take every criticism earnestly and learn from them, somewhere around chapter 30 or 35 things just got downright toxic. I really don't wanna be a whiny little turd about this, and I do apologize if I come off this way because I am legitimately fairly sensitive as a person, but I think I need to step away for a while and recover before I can do the Part 3 I'd originally planned some proper justice.

Though I did find it darkly humorous that when one of my beta readers googled the title to this story, one of the top related search terms that came up was “zootopia self harm fanfiction.” Ouch!

I realize that some of you who disliked this story likely won't be following the next one if and when it comes, so I'll just thank you for following through with this one to the end despite your dislike of it. But for those who did enjoy “In the Sanguine Shadow,” I thank you dearly for following and commenting this whole way, because you guys genuinely helped motivate me to keep going when I was feeling down. Not even kidding, you guys are awesome, every single one of you. And though I can't make any promises for a Part 3, I'll do my best thinking about you guys.

After all, Nick and Judy deserve a happy ending together.

If anyone wants to contact me personally, especially if you're interested in beta-reading my original works, do message me on tumblr. My username there is silverstripeszoot .  Peace out, guys.


End file.
